


Cain and Abel

by caffeinatednightowl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Brother Feels, Brother vs Brother, Dark, F/M, Heavy Angst, M/M, Possessed Sam, Prophecy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:25:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinatednightowl/pseuds/caffeinatednightowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a prophecy of two brothers--one was the Righteous Man, destined to lead the armies of Heaven. The other, the Antichrist, to lead the armies of Hell. When Sam Winchester is possessed by Azazel, a guardian angel named Castiel saves Dean, telling him he is destined to lead the armies of Heaven, and kill his brother.Dean would do anything to save Sam, but destiny is a hard thing to change.</p><p>Chapter 6 is up! Dean and Cas have a heart to heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a prophecy of two brothers, one who could end the world, and one who could save it...

**14 Years Ago**

The first thing Dean saw was that there was something standing at the end of his bed.

Not someone, some _thing._

Some kind of primal sense told him that thing was not supposed to be there.  He wanted to cry out, scream for his mom, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He was frozen in his bed, eyes wide and scared, unable to flee as the _thing_ approached him.

It settled on bed next to him, smiling, black eyes flashing toward him in a way that made his base instincts scream _get out!_ “Fear not, young one, you have been chosen for a greater purpose,” it said.

The thing reached out, stroking his cheek as Dean’s thoughts were screaming in his head _stop stop stop stop!_ “Do not be afraid. You will go to a better place than this _wasteland_ ,” it spat out the word. “And for your great service, your family will be spared.” It changed before Dean's very eyes—what was smoky and black and near-shapeless took on human form.

A familiar form.

 _His_ form.

“Your family will never feel pain from your loss,” Dean saw his own body smile back at him. “And you will serve the King of Hell, Dean Winchester…” It moved toward him again, fingers spread towards his neck.

If he could move, he would’ve screamed—would’ve pissed himself— _Stop it, no no no no NO STOP PLEASE NO!_ Hands clenched tight around his throat, and Dean couldn’t breathe, couldn’t cry out, everything was swimming and his chest was burning from lack of air and his throat constricted and everything was fading and going dark and _NO, WHY, PLEASE, STOP IDON'TWANTTODIE!_

“ _Damnit, Mary, we’ve been through this!”_ His father roared from below. “ _Don’t you dare turn your back on me!”_

The spell was broken. The creature gave a _tsk_ , and then vanished. Dean gasped air into his lungs and jerked up, breathing hard. His hands came to touch his chest, but nothing was broken or bruised. Blinking and gulping down precious oxygen, he glanced into the dark of his room again, seeing no trace of the evil creature.

Had it been all a dream? Or…?

He heard his father pounding up the stairs, and Dean quickly shuffled back under the covers in case his father came to check on him. But his father never did.

Despite his terror, the ten-year-old Dean Winchester did manage to fall asleep; the encounter becoming nothing more to him than a nightmare.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

  **Present Day, Nov 1st**

“Here’s to Sammy!” said Dean, smiling as he lifted his beer glass into the air. “Genius of the family!”

The glasses all clinked together as Sam shifted uncomfortably in the booth. “Dean, you didn’t have to do this.”

“’Course I did,” Dean reached over the table to ruffle his little brother’s hair. “Not everyone can get into Stanford, kiddo.”

At Sam’s side, Jess leaned into him and smiled, “So that means it had better be worth it,” she poked him in the ribs, “We’re gonna have to have one of those long-distance Skype relationships, so don’t you dare screw this up.”

Sam blushed, “I won’t.”

Dean laughed. “She got you whipped, eh, Sammy? There’s a reason I like her.”

“Shut up,” muttered Sam, though he did put an arm around Jess all the same. Dean chuckled and leaned back into his seat, his own girlfriend, Lisa, at his side. It didn’t matter if he had to get up super early for a shift at the garage tomorrow (all those electrical storms and lightning strikes had gotten people all worried and taking in their cars in in case tornado season started early next year); right now, everything was perfect. Sammy, the little genius, had gotten into Stanford;' a full ride, even. Sammy finally found the right girl for him, and as for himself, Dean and Lisa were doing great. Her kid finally warmed up to him, at least. Though it did make it difficult, finding days when they could be together, he couldn’t ask for anything more.

Lisa smiled, a smile that Dean always thought could warm up a room. “So, are you staying at the Community College, Jess?”

Jess nodded, “Yeah, I think I’m going to finish my associate’s degree and then try to get into Med School. They have a good med school out there in California, so hopefully I can move closer to Sam when the time comes.” Sam beamed at that. Sure, having a year for a long-distance relationship would be difficult, but if there were any people who could pull it off, it would be there two.

Dean didn’t think he’d ever be satisfied with his life, after his mom died when he was 14 and then his dad wasted away, drunk half the time, before killing himself two years ago. He remembered the grueling nights where he worked himself to the bone, trying to support Sam and make sure the kid had enough time to do his school work. He knew there was no way Sam could get into a decent college without a scholarship and finally, all that hard work had paid off. Sam had finished all his required courses at a Community College before applying to the better universities, thinking for certain he wouldn’t get into his dream school, but Dean always knew he’d get in. And sure enough, when the early-admittance acceptance letter came in the mail this morning, Dean made immediate plans for a party.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” said Dean. “You’ve got like almost a whole year before you have to go to Stanford, Sammy. Just make sure you two crazy kids get enough time for each other.”

Jess gave Sam’s arm a little punch. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll make sure of it.”

Yep, that was definitely the girl for Sammy.

Though they laughed and all had another round (well, at least Dean and Lisa did anyway—Sam and Jess didn’t turn 21 until next year), soon the party had to break up. Lisa had to go home soon, since the sitter couldn’t be there all night. Though Dean would have liked to go home with her, an early morning shift at the garage kept him from it. After they all said their goodbyes, and Dean and Sam piled in Dean’s prized ’67 Chevy Impala to head home.

“So,” said Dean, ruffling Sammy’s hair once more. “Have fun?”

“I guess,” Sam swallowed, looking a bit nervous.

“What’s wrong with you?” Dean asked, pulling out of the bar parking lot. He had to hit his brights as soon as they got out of the lot—the back roads of Lawrence, Kansas were never well lit and the road was misty in the cool November air. They passed the McManon’s cattle farm, a place Dean he and Sammy used to sneak in and go cow-tipping when they were younger. The farm had higher fences now and a few guard dogs with a _Warning: Trespassers will Be Shot_ sign on them; aapparently, a few weeks ago, some sickos had snuck in and mutilated most of his cows.

“Everything is gonna change, Dean.”

“Yeah, for the better. You’re gonna get so many great opportunities, Sammy. It’s all I ever wanted for you.” Dean paused a moment, “It’s all Mom and Dad ever wanted for you.” Even if it meant that Sam would have to go away, Dean was fine with that. It was time the kid left the nest. That’s all part of what growing up was about. Besides, it wasn’t like he was alone, he had Lisa, and Ben, and he was sure he might see Jess a few times to give her updates on Sammy before she left for California too.

Sam was quiet as they drove, and Dean was wondering what was on the kid’s mind before Sam suddenly blurted out, “Dean, I want to propose to Jess.”

“Haha, I knew it!” Dean burst out laughing, reaching over to pull his brother into a one-armed hug that caused the car to swerve wildly on the two-lane road.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, untangling himself  as Dean cackled and got the car under control.

“How long have you been planning that?” Dean couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

“A while,” Sam said, fidgeting nervously. “I mean, I don’t want to do it right away, but, before I go away, yeah. I know we’re young and have only been dating for two years, but I think she’s really the one.”

“Then go for it, man. I’ve always told you that she was perfect for you. So, should I start planning the wedding?”

“ _Dean,_ ” Sam scowled. “Look, even if I do, you know, before I go away, I don’t think there'll be a wedding until we’re both done with college.”

“Haha, fine,” Dean didn’t think he’d ever be able to stop smiling now. “As long as I’m your best man, all right? I’ve got so many stories about you I could tell.”

“Oh God, Dean, not the story about the frog pond—”

“ _Yes,_ the story about that time you fell in the frog pond! Your girl should hear it man, she’ll never let you live it down.”

Sam scrunched down in the seat, blushing, “What have I gotten myself into?”

“I’m supposed to embarrass you, Sammy, I’m your big brother!” And at that moment, Dean was probably the happiest he had ever been, and perhaps the happiest he ever would be.

As they were walking up the steps to the house, Sam asked him, “So, Dean, what about you and Lisa?”

Dean paused, “What about me and Lisa?”

“Well, you have been dating for a while, and you guys seem to be comfortable with each other…”

“If you’re asking if I’m gonna pop the question, then that is _out_ of the question, for now,” Dean said, opening up their door. “Look, I don’t want to force anything on her; she’s got enough to deal with her job and her kid.”

“You do love her though, right?” asked Sam, following Dean inside.

Dean shrugged, “I guess. Her kid too. They’re good people. But yeah, it’s not the right time. Maybe in the future, you know…”

Sam smiled, “Well, I want you to be happy too, Dean.”

“I am happy! You’re gonna go to Stanford, marry your girl—”

“I mean, I want you happy because you’re happy with _your_ life,” said Sam, looking down (that kid hit a growth spurt when he was sixteen and all those years of Dean teasing Sam for being short got thrown back in his face) at him with pity.

“I _am_ happy,” Dean repeated. If Sam was happy, he was happy. That’s all there was to it.

“Fine then,” Sam didn’t sound like he believed it, but whatever. Kid could think what he wanted. “Anyway, I know you got the early morning shift at the garage so…”

“Yeah,” said Dean, clapping Sam on the shoulder. “Goodnight. See ya tomorrow.”

\------------------------------

Dean blinked, his eyes finding the LED clock in the darkness of the room. _3:33 am_ , the blinking red numbers said.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized there was someone standing at his bedside. Someone _tall._

 Sam? Dean wanted to say to him, but he couldn’t move and couldn’t speak. All he could do was lie there and watch as the figure came forward.

“It’s time.” Dean heard Sam’s voice, and wondered what Sammy was going on about. Was he dreaming? Or did the kid find himself Dean’s liquor stash and have too much to drink?

“We’ve waited ten years for this moment,” Sam said again, moving in an odd manner as he came to sit down on the bed. Dean looked at Sam, not noticing any signs of drunkenness or anything else unusual, except for that almost dead, glassy look in his eyes. “Ten years of preparing and planning; do you have any idea how hard it was? Making sure everything was perfect for tonight.”

If Dean could move, he would’ve grabbed Sam, and demanded what the Hell he was blabbing on about. It was three-fucking-am! Unless he was stoned out of his mind, there was really no excuse for this. (And Dean was quite sure Sam had never even considered touching the stuff; he was too good of a kid).

“You’re worried, I can tell. But do not fear, your brother is in a better place now,” Sam smiled, and then blinked as brown eyes disappeared in a flash of yellow.

 _That_ wasn’t normal. Dean’s heart raced, panicking. _Come on, wake up, wake up, this isn’t real. Come on!_ But he didn’t wake. He didn’t move. He couldn’t do anything but watch in horror as the Sam-creature chuckled low and reached for him. “This is how it should be,” Sam’s body said, his voice almost regretful. Sam’s long fingers touched him, caressed his cheek in almost a sick gesture, his yellow-eyes glassy but slightly sad, and Dean was sure he would’ve died of a heart attack by now if this was real, so scared and freaking out and wondering, wondering, _W_ _hat ishappening?_

A flash of black and a _wham!_  as Sam’s fingers were wrenched away. Something stepped between Dean and Sam, but Dean couldn’t see it through the large, black shape that covered him. “You will not touch him,” another voice, low and intimidating, snarled. “The Righteous Man is mine now, Azazel.”

 _What?_ Dean suddenly broke free of whatever spell was holding him, jerking up in bed. “Sammy?” he said, trying to push aside the black thing and feeling something feathery in his hand. “Sam—” The feathery shape pushed him back.

“Your brother is beyond your reach now,” the other voice said, and that was when it turned to him.

Dean gasped, realizing the feathery shape was in fact _wings._

Large, black wings that, when fully outstretched, reached from floor to ceiling. The man wearing the wings was a lot less remarkable—skinny, black hair, immense blue eyes, and wearing a too-large tan trenchcoat. “I have come for you, Dean Winchester,” he said, his piercing eyes staring right through him.

“You think you’ve won, angel,” Sam snarled, and Dean looked back to where his brother stood after he had been knocked back. His eyes were still that horrible yellow, his face twisted in a smile. “But this has only just begun.”

“That’s enough, Azazel,” the winged man pulled a long, silver sword from seemingly nowhere. “You will leave now.”

Sam smirked, and then held up his fingertips. S _nap._

The room burst into flames.

“ _Sam!_ ” Dean roared, leaping off the bed and trying to get to his little brother, but the winged man held him back, his arm outstretched and unmovable as Dean scrambled against it. “No, _Sam!_ ” He choked and coughed and his eyes were reduced to slits from the heat, from the smoke and soot, but even though his vision was limited, he saw Sam disappear before his very eyes, just as flaming drywall fell right where had stood. “ _Sammy!_ ”

“It’s too late!” the winged man said. “You need to get to safety—“ The man held him tight, unmoving while Dean fought him with all his strength, and he pressed two fingers to Dean’s forehead—

His bedroom vanished. He was standing in his boxers and t-shirt in a dusty, plain, empty bedroom somewhere he didn’t recognize. It had to be halfway across the world, since faint light was filtering in through the curtains. No traces of any fire or Sam could be seen. “Where am I?” Dean demanded, as the winged man let go of him. “What happened? Who are you? _Where’s Sam?”_

“Calm down,” said the winged man, sitting on a creaking bed in the corner, he folded his wings to his back, no longer outstretching them in an intimidating gesture. “You are safe; that’s all that matters.”

“How the _fuck_ can you tell me to calm down?” Dean yelled, marching over to the him. “Sammy’s gone, my house is burning, youshow up and now if you won’t explain!”

The man sighed, “My name is Castiel; I am the guardian angel assigned to you. I brought you here because it would be safe.”

Dean had no fucking clue what "angel" meant, but he wasn’t gonna start arguing religion until he knew what happened to his little brother. “Safe from _what?_ Whatever the Hell happened to Sam? Where is he, I need to—”

“ _That_ was no longer your brother,” said Castiel, in his usual monotone, cold, almost-uncaring voice. “That was Azazel, I presume. Of course he would want to keep the vessel safe by taking control of it.”

“Vessel? What—what are you talking about? _Tell me what is going on!_ ” Dean roared once more, bending down so his eyes were at Castiel’s level. He felt pricks of tears at the corner of his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall—not until he knew what was happening.

“There was a prophecy,” Castiel began. “A prophecy of two brothers—one would be the Righteous Man, destined to lead the armies of Heaven, and the other, the vessel of Lucifer, the Antichrist, the one to lead the armies of Hell.” Dean couldn’t speak as Castiel rose to his feet, face serious. “So you see, Righteous Man, the war has just begun.”

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angel Castiel explains a milennia-old prophecy.

Dean stared at this man; this _thing_ before him. His mind was still running overdrive, still yelling at him to _get to Sammy_ , _save Sammy, Sammy’s in danger_ , and he didn’t care what this guy, Castiel, or whatever, was saying, none of that mattered except _Save. Sammy._ “What the Hell are you talking about?” 

Castiel sighed, his wings fluttering slightly, like a bird trying to make himself comfortable. “I was told by my superiors that you might need more explanation than that. Humans can be so easily alarmed.”

“Easily _alarmed?”_ balked Dean. “What the Hell are you going about? Heaven, armies of Hell; I don’t know what you are saying! Where’s Sam? What’s wrong with him? Why can’t I—”

Castiel cut him off by raising his hand, and perhaps he had some weird muting powers too because Dean fell silent as Castiel began, “I understand not all humans are believers. I’ll put this bluntly; there is a Heaven, there is a Hell, there are angels, as I am one, there are demons, and right now, we are on the brink of the apocalypse.”

Dean stared. Swallowed. Glanced around the room; it was a plain, if dusty room somewhere, with a small bed, chest of drawers, and old tube-tv set on a wooden stool, all covered in a greyish sort of hue, before looking back at Castiel. Okay, he believed in things he could see. If this Castiel asked him to believe in winged humanoids that could teleport, then sure, why not, he had just fucking seen it, but _angels? Demons? The apocalypse?_ “Okay buddy,” Dean felt the corners of his mouth curling up in an almost-smile, something he knew he did when he was on the verge of freaking out. “Look, I don’t believe in—“

“Anything you can’t see, I know,” Castiel said, stepping closer, causing Dean to step back a bit. This guy was a little creepy with the mind reading and the personal space issues. “But you _must_ believe me. It is the only way, Righteous Man. We need you to lead our armies—”

“Look, cut that out, damnit!” Dean shook his head, waving his hand as if to dispel the air. He brushed past Castiel, towards the door. This had to be a dream. A crazy, crazy dream. “You’ve got this all wrong, you know that? I’m not your fucking ‘Righteous Man’, okay? I’m just a mechanic from Kansas, and all I want to do is find my brother, and get back home, you hear me!”

Castiel flicked his hand at the TV—it turned on. “ _Reports say, the  first started around 3:30 am last night…”_

Dean whipped his head back at the TV to get a better look at the small screen. It was KZ5, the local news station for Lawrence. The screen showed a helicopter view of a destroyed, smoking house and a small crowd gathered in front of it. His house. A second later he realized that it was daytime on the TV, despite the fact that to his reckoning, it had been mere minutes since Castiel pulled him from the burning home. _“We have confirmation that there were two bodies pulled from the home. Male, early twenties.”_ The camera zoomed in on the crowd, and Dean’s heart lurched seeing Jess at the front, falling on her knees and covering her face in despair as others consoled her. “Two bodies…?” Dean murmured, mouth going dry.

“Azazel doesn’t want anyone looking for you two,” Castiel said, and with the snap of his fingers, the TV turned off. “He wants this war and he doesn’t want any interference. That is why when he realized he could not kill you, he placed the bodies of two unfortunate young men in you and your brother’s place. You cannot go back to your old life now, Dean Winchester. That life is gone.”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, trying to block it all out for just a moment. Okay, this was crazy, this was seriously fucking crazy, but if it was real then...Lisa…Lisa thought he was dead, Ben too. He liked that kid; he was young, but a good kid. And she—she would be devastated. What he had said to Sam wasn’t entirely true; he had thought about proposing, but that was such a far off prospect; something to ask in a year or two’s time, not now.

Maybe it was better that he hadn’t asked.

But Jess—poor girl would have to say goodbye to Sam for good now.

And Sam… _Sam—!_

Clenching his fists, Dean turned back to Castiel. “I'm still not sure I believe you on all of this angels and demons and apocalypse crap, but you still haven’t explained what happened to Sammy.”

“I told you, a demon named Azazel—”

“Demons? Look, pal, yesterday was probably the happiest day of my life and now you drag me here, and tell me about _demons—_ “

“I’m surprised you’re skeptical about demons, considering you met one fourteen years ago.”

A lump formed in Dean's throat. “What? What are you talking about? I would’ve been—“

“Ten, yes.” Castiel nodded. “Don’t you remember? That night when you had what you thought was a nightmare; a vision of something evil wearing your form and trying to kill you?”

“ _That?”_ Yes, Dean did remember; it was hard to forget the most terrifying nightmare of your life. “That was just a nightmare—a night terror, I mean. Where you’re awake but still kind of dreaming and you start seeing things?”

“That was no nightmare,” said Castiel, his expression dark. “That was a demon, coming for your form. Demons cannot take shape on this plane without a body to host them. And they take those bodies from children.”

“One of those things came for me?” Dean felt his breath grow short.

“You remember it, don’t you? How you could tell inherently that it was evil? That was a demon coming to steal your body as a host. They take bodies from children, usually around age ten. They grow into the child’s life, blend in, until they are old enough and then strike out to do their master’s work. It came for you, but the interesting thing was that it did not take you. It was stopped, by you breaking free of its spell.”

Dean needed to sit down. He sank into the bed, feeling the old, dusty mattress creak in his wake. Angels…demons…the apocalypse… _Sammy…_ all of this was too much. This had to be a fucking dream. It couldn't be real. He needed to wake up. Needed to wake up _now._  “This is fucking crazy. Look, I don't care if you tell me my preschool teacher was a demon, I'm not gonna believe--”

Castiel continued on speaking, “ _No one_ could have broken that spell, Dean. All you had to do was concentrate somewhere else, and you broke that. That was when the demons realized what they were messing with, and why they decided to leave you be. Only two humans in the could’ve broken a demon’s control, Dean—the Righteous Man, or the Antichrist. The demon left, and probably told its master of what it found. That is how they found your brother. Then they waited, until the time was right to take him.”

Dean rested his head in his hands. Everything was swimming in his mind, in his stomach—he was going to throw up if this kept up. God, he wanted to wake up already! “What did they do to Sam?”

“You saw for yourself; Azazel, master of all demons and king of Hell, has possessed him. The Antichrist is said to lead the armies of Hell to free Lucifer, and then, to become his vessel.”

Dean’s head snapped up. Why wasn't he waking up already? This was too much! “Lucifer? You mean—”

“Satan, the devil, whatever you call him, yes. Everything you learned in Sunday School is real the apocalypse is going to begin and _you_ , Dean Winchester, are our only hope if you want to save this world.” Castiel said, exasperated. “You need to understand that and prepare yourself, because it will begin soon.”

Dean was sweating, his hands shaking, and he looked up at Castiel, seeing this man, this _angel_ looking so annoyed and infuriated and _damn him_ he just told an ordinary guy that he was suddenly some messiah trapped in some angel and demon pissing contest, how the _fuck_ did he expect him to get over it when he was just told his brother was possessed by demons and everything he knew and loved was suddenly thrown out the window and—This had to be a dream, this had to be a dream, this had to be--“I’m gonna puke…” he muttered, just as the world spun, and barely made it to the small wastebasket in the corner before it all came up.

“I did not realize the trauma of this would affect your gastronomic systems.” Dean heard Castiel mutter behind him.

“Screw you,” Dean groaned back before burying his face in the wastebasket once more.

When he was done, still heaving, his throat burning from the acid but feeling a little better, Dean glared back up at the angel above him. “Okay, so now that that’s over, you need to understand something, _Feathers._ If this isn't a fucking dream, I mean. You pull me out of my house, where my little brother suddenly started attacking me, tell me I’m some-sorta messiah in your angel and demon war, and you expect me to just nut up and accept it? Dude, you need more human lessons.”

Castiel’s feathers ruffled, annoyed, again, but otherwise he did not show emotion.

Maybe...maybe this wasn't a dream. And if this wasn't a dream, if this was horrifyingly, terrifyingly real, then...Swallowing, Dean said, “So Sam is body snatched or something? If I help you, can I save him?”

“One of the strongest demons alive has possessed him. Most demons kill the host they posess simply because its easier—“

“ _Is he alive or not?”_ Dean glared at Castiel, hoisting himself back on his feet again. He didn't want to show it on his face, but his breath hung on Castiel's answer.

Castiel did not glance in Dean’s eyes. “It is possible. But if so, his soul would be buried deep and locked away. To break free of the possession would require a strength of will greater than I have ever seen in a human. And to defeat Azazel may mean destroying the vessel—”

“Castiel,” the name felt strange and alien on Dean’s tongue. “Can I save him?” He wanted to sound like he was brokering a deal, but instead he came off pleading.

“Perhaps,” Castiel sighed. “If your brother has a strong will, he may survive possession. But saving him without destroying his body to defeat Azazel is a monumental task; one that I’m not sure can be done.”

Dean looked away for a moment; he could see out the small window to a vast, dry desert beyond. Wherever Castiel had beamed him, it wasn’t Lawrence, that was for sure. Was this place, as well as his home, in danger if this fight—this apocalypse—couldn’t be stopped? Castiel kept going on about how he was supposed to save humanity but, really, he wanted to save his brother.

Sam was the only reason he was crazy enough to consider this.

He had to get it together. For Sam. “All right. I still think this is nuts; demons, angels, apocalypse, whatever, but a guy in the room with me has magic powers and wings so, maybe I’m nuts too—but if you help me save Sam, then I’ll be your Righteous Man. But Sam--he comes first.”

Castiel gave a sigh of relief. “I was hoping you’d say that. Otherwise I’d have to do whatever it took to make you agree.”

Dean wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not.

Either way, he looked around this room. “So, where are we? I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

Castiel tilted his head in a funny way that was definitely Toto-reminiscent. “I have brought you to the place where you will be looked after; protected. You are in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. This is a bar called the Roadhouse. Several hunters live here. These hunters have been prepared for what is coming and know how important you are and that you are to be looked after.”

“Hunters?”

“Humans who fight demons. They have been a threat to this world for as long as humans have been on it. They are a chosen few who were foretold of this day. You will remain here until you receive further instructions from the angels and begin your training.”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” Dean shook his head in disbelief. “Training?”

“As the Righteous Man, you must lead the armies of Heaven, or have you forgotten? We must have you prepared. The armies of Hell will surely rally around the Antichrist, so we have a little time before they begin.”

Dean felt bile coming up in his throat again. He forced it down. “Right. Of course. So, you sent me to these people for babysitting? I thought I had to go find Sam? Seriously, dude, how are they gonna feel that you beamed me into their bedrooms?”

Castiel shook his head. “They do not know, yet. I stopped their perception of time in this house, so we could converse for as long as we needed to.”

“Oh.” Wow, angels were pretty powerful. Seconds after that thought, Dean mentally beat himself up because _of course_ angels were powerful. His mother used to tell him about the angels, saying they were always watching over him. Guess that was kind of true?

But if there were angels, there was Heaven, then there probably was a God, and if so…maybe his mother did find peace, in an afterlife, of sorts. Despite the freaking out before, this calmed him. Wherever “Heaven” was, he was sure his mother was there, and happy.

“I should go now,” said Castiel, adjusting that ugly tan trenchcoat of his. “I have to report back to my superiors.”

“Superiors?”

“Whatever you may think, guardian angels are not up on the command chain, not even for the Righteous Man.”

Castiel raised a hand and waved it slightly; that greyish hue that had been present in the room, that Dean had thought was just a part of the room’s décor, vanished. “I have lifted the time stop. You can meet with the hunters now. I will be back when I have orders.”

Dean heard a distinct thumping coming up the stairs. “Wait!“

“I must go, before they see me,” explained Castiel, but Dean could tell there was something else in the way his blue eyes averted. “Farewell, Dean Winchester.”

“Hey—” But Castiel had vanished. Seconds later, the thumping got louder and then the door burst open. A redheaded girl came in, smiling wide as she saw him.

“I knew it,” she half-said, half-panted. “The angels were right. You are here, just as they said you would be.”

“Huh?” But before Dean could inquire more, the girl ran back outside to yell down the stairs. “Bobby! Ellen! He’s here!”

“Hey, why are you—?” When she turned back to him, her eyes got wider and glanced downward; that was when Dean remembered he was still wearing nothing but boxer shorts and t-shirt.

“Oh, sorry!” she said quickly, retreating out the door and shutting it. “Don’t worry, we have some of Garth’s clothes here, hang on!”

Dean sighed, resting his head in his hands. This was either a dream, or he was going fucking crazy. The whole world had gone fucking crazy. But he would have to put up with this.

He would have to put up with this, if he wanted a chance at saving Sam.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

Once he had changed in what apparently consisted of a hunter’s daily outfit (he wondered about the preference for Henley’s and plaid, but didn’t ask) Dean figured it was time to meet the family. He remembered the redheaded girl, and she had mentioned someone named Bobby and Ellen, but he hadn’t expected this many people. When he came downstairs into what appeared to be a respectable, if a little dirty bar (he had wondered how “respectable” a place like this would be, considering it had bedrooms upstairs). There were a lot of people sitting down at the bar, so much that Dean felt momentarily overwhelmed and wondered if he could sneak back upstairs before that redheaded girl noticed. “Oh, you’re here!” Everyone turned to look at him, and Dean felt that awkwardness coming on.

“Um, hi?” he gave an awkward wave. Dean glanced around the room; he saw a bearded and baseball-capped man standing at the bar, a blonde girl sitting there behind him, a mulleted weirdo and another redheaded chick sitting near a computer by a table, and an asian kid and an older brunette woman sitting by the wavy redhead that saw him earlier. “So um, angels told you I was coming, huh?”

The older man at the bar, with a beard and a frown on his face that looked like it might never come off, said, “Not us.  Her.”

The redhead nodded. “My name is Anna. I can hear them the angels. I heard that they would be bringing you here. Then it made sense, why we were all gathered here today.”

“Wait, wait, you guys just believed this angel and demon and apocalypse crap?” Dean sat on the stairs, hand on his forehead. This day was going to give him a migraine. He would rather skip all the pleasantries, and explanations, and skip to the part where he stared learning how he could kick demon ass and save his brother.

His world had turned upside down, and the only thread of sanity he was hanging on to was the idea that If he went along with all this, maybe he could bring Sammy back.

“Well, there are demons out there, and it seemed kind of weird that all of us were drawn to the Roadhouse at the same time, but I honestly don’t believe anything from angels unless I got cold, hard, proof.” The bearded man said again, and Dean could get behind that.

“Bobby Singer, stop being such an ass; can’t you see the poor guy has been through enough already?” A taller, older woman walked in, carrying a case of beer. Setting the case down on the floor behind the bar, she opened up the fridge behind the bar and pulled out a cold beer, before tossing it to Dean. “What’s your name, son?”

Dean caught the beer, and he silently thanked the woman for it; he needed it. “Dean Winchester.”

The woman smiled. “Ellen Harvelle. So, are you the one Anna said was coming? The Righteous Man the angels have been buzzing about?”

Dean twisted off the beer cap, looking down at the bottle, and nodded. He didn't want to delve further into this 'Righteous Man' crap, right now; he was torn between wanting to head up the stairs, pull the covers over his head, and sleep it all off and hope this was a bad dream, or find out where the fucker that took his brother was and go to beat the shit out of it.

Silence crept over the bar, except Dean heard distantly “You owe me ten bucks, Ash,” from the back.

“Well, guess that’s it, then,” Ellen said, putting more beers on the bar. “Welcome to the Apocalypse, everyone. Might as well get acquainted. You first, hun,” she said, nudging the bearded man at the bar.

He frowned, taking a beer and twisting off the cap. Sighing he began, “Bobby Singer. Ellen’s husband. Whipped.”

The blonde girl next to him laughed, and then followed suit. “Jo Harvelle. Best hunter in the state.”

“ _Second_ best, ya idjit,” Bobby piped up, but there was a bit of affection in  his voice.

As Dean took a swing of his beer, the introductions continued, “Name’s Ash,” the guy with the god-awful mullet said. “If you need anything done with computers, that’d be me.”

“Charlie Bradbury,” the girl next to him said, “Woman of Letters. It’s nice to finally meet you—the Men of Letters always spoke of your family.”

“What?” What the Hell was a Letter's Man or whatever?

“Oh, you don’t know, do you?” said Charlie, looking genuinely upset. “The Men--or Woman, now that we pretend to have some semblance of gender equality these days—of Letters were a society created to studying demons and other supernatural things so hunters had an easier time of it. Your come from a line of the Men of Letters, and some of the greatest hunters known, you know. Your father’s family comes from a long Men of Letters legacy, and your mother’s family, the Campbells, are a hunting dynasty.”

Dean should be more surprised, but well, he was pretty numb to earth-shattering declarations at the moment. Once the shock of all of this--or he woke up from this bizarre dream--fully kicked in, he'd probably save the freakout for then. “Really? I never knew about it.”

Charlie had an answer for that as well. “Because your parents never knew. Your grandfather died in the line of duty before he could tell his son, and your mother’s parents died while on a job when she was very young. Neither of them knew the legacy that they would be leaving.”

No wonder Castiel the angel was so sure of all of this. So he was a fucking legacy? No wonder they had placed such high hopes on him.

Too bad he knew he wouldn’t measure up.

He still had a few more he had to meet in this mandatory “Meet the team” sequence. “Kevin Tran,” said the kid. “I’m a prophet of the Lord, apparently. I mean, I see things and then they come true. I’m part of the reason everyone is here.”

“A prophet, huh? That must suck,” Dean piped up, taking a swing of his beer.

Though Kevin just smirked at that. “I could say the same about you.”

True. It all sucked.

“Pamela Barnes,” the older woman smiled. “Psychic. The other reason why the team is all here.”

“And I’m Anna Milton,” said Anna. “I’m a nephilim, which is why I can hear the angels. “

“What’s a nephilim?”

“The spawn of an angel and a human,” she explained, and before she could explain further, her eyes flashed silver, causing a shiver to go up Dean’s spine.

“Oh. I didn’t know angels had the ability to…uh...” He didn’t finish, but Charlie’s snort from the back of the room got across that she knew what he meant.

“I have to be careful,” Anna explained, her eyes returning to their normal brownish hue. “The angels—I hear them talk of nephilim as if they are abominations. They don’t like things like me.”

“Oh, sorry.” That might explain why Castiel was so quick to get out of there. Ass.  

“It's all right. I’m the reason why we knew you were coming,” she said, smiling. “So I’m happy to help.”

“There’s one more guy you might meet eventually,” Ellen said. “Garth; he’s a hunter ‘round these parts. But he went to go take care of a vampire in Nebraska; he should be back soon.”

“V-vampire? There are vampires?” Dean stuttered, nearly spitting out his mouthful of beer.

Ellen laughed, “You have got a lot to learn, don’t you, boy?”

“Yeah…I guess…” He fought down his panic, trying to keep it together, though he wanted to burst out screaming that this wasn’t right; it wasn’t right that he could be sitting here with beer chatting with a bunch of people he’d never met before when his brother was out there and—

Put up with it, he told himself once more, fighting down the ache in his heart when he thought about it.

Put up with it, put one foot in front of the other, deal with it.

He knew this was the only way he’d be able to save Sam.  


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel speaks to his superiors and Dean gets a message through to Sam.

Castiel was told to report to his superiors as soon as he dropped the Righteous Man off at the safe house. Instead, he chose to make a small detour before reporting.

Humans seemed to think that Heaven was a plane, a vast, space with enough room for souls and angels to mingle. Heaven actually consisted of infinite spaces, each one unique and different for souls and for angels alike. This plane he visited was actually the one of his favorite big brother, Gabriel.

“Big brother” was a term humans applied, he supposed, but it worked here; the four archangels, Lucifer one of them, were created before the other angels themselves. Castiel had numerous brothers and sisters, but only those four were considered “big brother” to him.

He had been a guardian for too long; he was starting to pick up human customs.

Today, Gabriel seemed to like looking out at the sunset on a lonely beach; the archangel had said once that he considered himself “hopelessly romantic” when it came to nature, whatever that meant.

Normally, a guardian angel such as Castiel wouldn’t have been on friendly terms with an archangel, but it was a unique situation. Castiel met Gabriel when the archangel came down to earth to bring the good news to the chosen virgin Mary. He, as well as another lowly angel, had been sent to Gabriel to offer him assistance. Castiel had been overwhelmed by the opportunity; he was going to serve an archangel, one of the few angels who had actually seen his father! But while archangels were supposedly calm, reserved, graceful, and beautiful, Gabriel was nothing like Castiel had imagined. Before Castiel even knew what taking a vessel was like, Gabriel had chosen some shepherd’s son and was flaunting him all around Earth before fulfilling his God-given duty. He was casual about the whole thing, wanting to sit back and enjoy the few glimpses of humanity they got, instead of being all strict and to the point, which was what Castiel had supposed archangels should be. Gabriel was even strange in the way he treated Castiel, joking around with him, laughing, asking Castiel to tell himself about him.

After that mission, Gabriel told Castiel to “keep in touch”. Castiel did wonder about this, but the archangel had given him an order, and so he did. He came to Gabriel every now and then, talking about his missions and what he had seen on earth. And each time, Gabriel treated him like a friend, like a brother, not like a superior should. Which made everything all the stranger.

After centuries of this, Castiel had finally worked up the courage to ask, “Why do you want to talk to me?”

And Gabriel had smiled and replied, “Because I want to.”

That sentence had boggled Castiel’s mind for ages. Angels didn’t want to do anything; they did things because they were told.

He found Gabriel relaxing on a chair on the edge of his beach, wearing those blind-like sunglasses that had seemed popular with the humans a few years ago, with a cold beer in hand. “So, how was the Righteous Man?” Gabriel asked. Castiel was always in awe of his big brother’s presence; even when Gabriel got up to his usual antics, seeing a mighty archangel before him, his six golden wings spread out behind him like rays of a sun, it always made Castiel feel a little self-conscious about his two coal-colored wings that never seemed to sit right behind him.

Angels were not supposed to be nervous.

“The Righteous Man has been placed at the safe house,” Castiel said, back straight as if he was reporting in. “He seemed upset upon hearing the news of his destiny.”

Gabriel chuckled. “Humans, Castiel. They are a lot more emotional than you would think.”

Castiel tilted his head slightly. He had watched humans for millennia, but trying to understand them sometimes was still almost too much. “I would not have thought the Righteous Man would be so emotional about it. I understand feeling sad about his brother, as I would feel sad if I had to kill any of my brothers as well, but I wonder why he was so emotional about his destiny.”

“He is the Righteous Man because he _is_ emotional,” Gabriel said, sitting up from his chair and taking a long drink from his beer. Once out of the chair, his golden wings fanned out, all six forming a near circle around him. “You will see it in time.”

In time...Castiel wondered how much time. The Righteous Man needed training, and they needed to strike soon to make an impact against the army of demons. How could an emotional man help them when they needed a leader, a hero?

Gabriel chuckled, as if he could read Castiel’s mind. He probably could. “While you were there, did you meet the nephilim?”

“No,” Castiel shook his head. “I thought it would not be wise. If Intelligence checks my mind, they will not be able to find her face in my memories.”

“I never did understand their hatred of nephilims, but they can be powerful if pissed off."

Castiel fell silent for a moment, before glancing at Gabriel’s created beach. It was a perfect image of their father’s beautiful creation. “Something on your mind?” asked Gabriel.

Gabriel had asked him; it was an order. “I am curious, I suppose.” Castiel lowered his eyes—angels were not supposed to be curious. “Why was I chosen for this duty? The Righteous Man deserves all the protection we can give him, doesn’t he? Why was I, a guardian angel, picked for this duty? Surely someone—you, or one of the other archangels—would be able to do a better job?”

Gabriel smiled, stepping forward to place a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Well, that’s the thing, Castiel. About this job; God himself said it had to be you.”

“What?” Castiel looked up at Gabriel, blinking in surprise. “I—I did not—”

“It is not public information,” Gabriel looked out to that vast ocean, deep into the sunset. “But it was one of God’s last orders, when he wrote down his plans for this time. He said that you, Castiel, would be the one to guide the Righteous Man. No one else.”

“But why me?” Castiel asked, stepping forward, hands outstreched, forgetting about deference in this one moment. “Why was I assigned to this? I am no one special!”

Gabriel sent another smile his way. “God thought you were.”

Castiel grew silent again, uncomfortable. God? Why did his father place such a heavy burden on his shoulders? Any other angel could have done it, but why him? He was proud and honored to serve his father's wishes, but it made no sense at all. 

“I have to report,” Castiel turned, willing those uncomfortable thoughts away. Angels did not brood on uncomfortable thoughts. “Goodbye, Brother.”

“See you, Castiel” Gabriel waved. Just as Castiel was leaving the plane, he thought he heard a faint, “Good luck.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------

When Dean rolled out of bed that morning, he jerked up and gaped at the unfamiliar scenery. The momentary panic was soon replaced with the overwhelming realization that he hadn’t woken up from a very bad dream—he was thrust back into this reality. This crazy fucking reality.

A reality where apparently angels and demons duked it out, using him and his brothers as chess pieces in their war.

He had woken up early, possibly jet—teleport—whatever—lagged from his sudden couple-hours loss the other day. It didn’t appear that anyone else was awake on the second floor, so Dean quickly dressed and hurried downstairs to the (always empty, apparently) bar to get some time to himself.

Surprisingly, he wasn’t alone. Pamela the psychic sat at one of the dusty tables, a spread of tarot cards out before her. Glancing down, Dean saw the three cards that depicted a moon, three swords, and five wands, respectively. “You’re up early,” she said, taking the cards off the table and shuffling them back into the deck.

“Guess I couldn’t sleep,” replied Dean, slouching down into a chair.

“Better sleep now,” Pamela smiled. “I get the feeling that we won’t get much sleep soon.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. Pamela shuffled her tarot cards and Dean watched her. Could she really  divine the mysteries of the world with a pack of cards? He wished someone could tell him how this was gonna turn out; what was coming ahead.

“Your mind is heavy,” she said, causing Dean to flinch.

“You can read my mind?” he gaped, a little uncomfortable.

Pamela chuckled. “You just got the look on your face like you got a lot to think about, and I don’t blame you.”

“Well…” Dean’s words died in his mouth. He didn’t know this woman. What was he supposed to tell her, how he failed his vow to his father to always protect his brother, how he was told only yesterday that he was supposed to be the one to save the world, and he might have to kill his brother to do that in the end? He was still attempting to wrap his head around everything and process it and just keep on going without having a breakdown.

“I’m not your mother; I’m not gonna make you talk,” said Pamela, smiling. “I just want you to know, son, that you’re in a nest of people with issues. We all got our own thing to fight for.”

“Two days ago, I woke up to go to work on a normal day, and now I’m told there are angels, and demons, and I’m supposed to lead some kind of angel army,” Dean muttered, resting his head in his hands. “Yeah, I fit in with you guys fine.”

Pamela smiled at him, in a way that was reflective, and sad. “I was 23. I was woken up in the middle of the night when my boyfriend came at me with a baseball bat. His eyes were all black and he was saying things, horrible things about the apocalypse and the time to come.” She looked down for a moment, thumbs rubbing along her index fingers in a nervous sort of gesture. “I had to shoot him. Turns out, he had been possessed all along. But it was his time to work for his master, so  he needed to get rid of the only thing that might hold him back. ” She swallowed and then her reflective eyes met Dean's shocked ones. “I don’t know how it is for your brother, but those things are monsters. They take their vessels as children and like playing at human lives for years. That’s what so scary about them; they could be anyone.”

“I’m sorry,” said Dean, jaw hard.

“Don’t be,” Pamela shook her head. “It was a long time ago. I’ve adjusted. But what I meant by it was that its true for all of us here; something threw us into that life. Something traumatic. That’s the nature of the whole thing. You live a normal life and then, one day, something just shakes that up and flips everything upside down. And things are never the same.”

Dean clenched his fists, his chest tightening at that. _Never the same…_ Perhaps she was right. Lisa thought he was dead. Their house was gone. They couldn’t return to their old lives. Still… “I just want to save my brother,” he said, closing his eyes. “That’s all that matters right now. But, I don’t even know if he’s all right; if I can save him, or…”

“There might be a way to find out if he’s all right,” Pamela said, smiling in a motherly way.

“How? Go find some demons and ask them? Yeah, that would work—”

“I mean, a spell,” she said. “I know a spell that might be able to give you some answers; and you look like you need them.”

Dean paused a moment before replying, “Okay.”

“Meet me later, in the basement. I’ll get the goods.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Castiel always hated reporting to his superiors, but in matters as important as the Righteous Man, he had no choice.

“Castiel,” said his superior, Zachariah, as he entered the plane of heaven restricted to his superiors. His superiors seemed to have a taste for Rocco interiors, seeing as he was in a room designed like a Venetian villa. “You are late.”

“Isn’t making sure the Righteous Man is safe and secure more important than being on time?”

Zachariah narrowed his eyes, his rust-colored wings fluttering behind him. “You placed him at the safe house?”

Castiel nodded, “And erected the proper wards outside of it. The Righteous Man is hidden from all demonkind. Azazel could not find him if he tried.”

Zachariah gave a little huff and turned away; Castiel always did wonder why his superior did like to question his methods, even if they were necessary and ordered. “The Righteous Man needs to be trained, and soon. Already demons are massing. We are on the brink of war, Castiel. We need our leader.”

“He will be trained,” Castiel assured him. “I shall arrange it myself. We will have our leader when the time is right.”

“We need him _now_ , Castiel!” Zachariah looked back at him, his face wrinkling up and wings spreading in anger.  “We have grunts on the ground beginning the first of many, many battles against the demons. We need our leader to step up and take charge, to inspire courage in all of their hearts! How can he do that if he is just sitting in a bar somewhere whining about his life?”

Castiel sighed, “If I may speak, brother, I believe he needs to adjust. He was ripped out of a normal life; he has lost his brother. He will need time—”

“We don’t have time! _Look_ , Castiel!” Zachariah placed two fingers against Castiel’s forehead. Castiel saw a vision of fire, ash, and dust. The world burning before his very eyes. His brothers and sisters falling, one by one in battle. Blood, screams, agony, and pain. All of those emotions washed over him, alien, strange, and painful. “ _That_ is what will happen if our Righteous Man cannot step up. He needs to lead our armies as soon as possible, kill the Antichrist, and—”

Unease settled in Castiel’s gut. Angels did not feel _unease._ “Must Sam Winchester die?”

Zachariah looked at him as if he was a fool. “He is the Antichrist. His destiny is to be killed by the Righteous Man, if we are to succeed. You know that—”

“I know that Sam Winchester is possessed by Azazel, and, if we fail, he will be possessed by Lucifer. Is it necessary that _he_ die?” Castiel remembered Dean Winchester’s anguish when he was told what had happened to his brother; what he must do to him. If it were possible, he wanted to spare the Righteous Man that.

He did not want to see the Righteous Man in anymore pain, though somehow, he doubted he could promise that.

Zachariah’s mouth was in a thin, tight line as he said, “Yes. Sam Winchester must die. It is the word of God, and we must—”

“Follow our father’s orders,” Castiel sighed, teeth clenched, repeating words he had memorized long ago.

\------------------------------------------------------------------

“What is this?” asked Dean, as he went to the basement and saw Pamela setting up downstairs. The basement looked more like a prop house for the Twilight Zone than anything—gun racks next to bags of salt were hung in the corner, strange pentagrams and arrays were drawn on the floor; there was a vat marked “Holy Water” right next to a rack of machetes and other sharp implements. There were a dozen bookshelves off to the corner filled with dusty old tomes, and then bags and baskets filled with dried weeds and what Dean assumed must be spell ingredients. An array that looked like a double pentagram had been drawn on a table, with a long black candle at the center of it. A bowl of ground ingredients and a spell book sat on the table, with Pamela seated and smiling as he came forward. 

“A channeling spell,” she explained.. “This will give you the answer you are looking for."

Dean stared at the candle as she lit it. “How?”

“By connecting your soul. Focus on the soul you want, and if he’s still here, on this place, he will answer.”

Dean’s breath caught in his chest. A way to sort-of talk to Sam? A way to find out if he was all right? He wanted this, he _needed_ this, but…

What if Sam didn’t answer?

He sat down at the table anyway, flexing his fingers nervously. He needed to do this. He had to know. If Sam could be saved, then that would make everything he was fighting for worth it, but if he couldn’t…

As Pamela opened the spell book, she mixed the powder in the bowl. “I’ll pour this over the candle, and you need to inhale the smoke. Think hard about the soul you want to connect to, and if they are here, you will find them.”

Dean looked at the contents of the bowl suspiciously. “Gonna play some Pink Floyd while I’m out?”

“Ha ha, wise guy,” said Pamela dryly. “Just keep concentrating.” She poured the mixture over the candle, and Dean did what he was told, leaned forward and got a good whiff of the musty, foul smelling smoke.

Pamela began chanting in Latin, or Greek, or something, and Dean closed his eyes and focused all his thoughts on Sam. _Sam,_ the little brother he practically raised for so many years. The little kid who always looked up to him and knew his big brother would never let him get hurt. Just the other day was the happiest day of Sam’s life, and more than anything, Dean wanted to be able to give that kid that feeling again.

_Dean?_

Dean felt like he had been punched in the gut, but he didn’t open his eyes. _“Sam?”_ he asked, but the word did not come out of his mouth as intended, but instead came out like a thought; seems like Pamela’s spell was working.

_Dean? How are you…?_

Dean could’ve cried from joy. “ _Sam! Oh god, Sam, you’re okay! You’re still here!”_

 _Dean, what’s going on?_ Sam sounded confused. _How are you doing that?_

Right. Sam didn’t know anything. “ _It’s a spell. Sammy, I don’t know how to put this, but magic is real. Angels and demons are real. And I don’t know what you’re feeling right now, I mean, you’re probably in a dark place or something, but you’re still alive so that means I can save you, okay?”_

 _A dark place? Yeah, maybe, I mean, this is…_ The words almost sounded forced…perhaps it was hard for Sam to keep the link going wherever his soul was trapped? _Demons? What do you mean? Demons aren’t real? What’s happening?_

_“Yeah. A demon named Azazel stole your body, Sam. Bastard. I’ll kill him. But I’ll get you out of here, okay? I know you’re probably freaking out, okay, but don’t worry, your big brother is coming for you.”_

_Dean…_ Sam sounded almost sad. _Dean, don’t—don’t try to save me, you could get hurt—_

_“I don’t care! Look, I’m gonna save you, okay? That’s my job! Looking after my pain-in-the-ass little brother! I’ll find some way to save you, and then we are going home—“_

That’s when Dean’s eyes popped open. He was back in the Roadhouse basement, with Pamela closing the spell book. “Why did you break the connection?” Dean yelled, relieved but also angered he didn’t get more time with his brother.

“I didn’t,” said Pamela, shaking her head. “It broke on its own. Either you severed it voluntarily, or the connection was pretty unstable.”

Unstable…that would make sense, if Sam’s soul was trapped in some dark abyss. But still... “He’s alive.” Dean said, the words pouring out of him in a flood of relief. He felt like laughing from joy, even if it was a harsh joy. “Either way, he’s alive, and I’m going to save him!”

 


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is trained by Castiel and Zachariah in preparation for war.

“You’re telling me the best way to get rid of demons is with friggin’ condiments?”  

Bobby snorted, tossing more salt rounds to Dean. “You gonna get smart, or are you gonna learn how to use this thing?”

“I know how to use a gun,” Dean rolled his eyes, loading the rounds into the old shotgun Bobby had given him. They were in the Roadhouse basement, and that morning the grouchy old hunter had taken it upon himself to teach Dean the ropes. Some of this stuff was pretty basic—point and shoot, hack and slash, but apparently there were other things hunters had to know. Enchantments. Exorcisms. Holy water and what it was good for. Sigils and signs. The difference between demonic and ghost possession (oh yes, there were ghosts, and vampires, and werewolves, and monsters, and demons and angels and anything and everything that he ever imagined went bump in the night). Salt apparently protected against everything. That would explain there were several large bags of rock salt in the basement.  “My dad took me hunting a few times when I was a kid; well, before he died, anyway.”

There was a reason Dean never liked to bring up the fact that both his parents were dead. Right away he saw that characteristic pity welling up in Bobby’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Dean waved it off; he had to. “It was a while ago. Not a big deal. I’m over it.” He wasn’t much of a father anyway in the later years. Ever since his mom died when Sammy was ten, their dad had started drinking, and never stopped. It got worse and worse, until Dean had to drop out of school to work at a garage in order to make ends meet. Near the end, Sammy had gotten all resentful, and had threatened to run off to go to college, but unless he could land a full scholarship, he’d have to go to the local community college for those first couple of years.

But John Winchester had been getting better. Perhaps it was Dean's dropping out of school is what did it—his father finally saw what his drinking was doing to his family, and started sobering up. For a while, Dean thought he might actually make it through.

_Yeah, right._

Somewhere along the line of John’s recovery, he decided he needed a project. The “project” happened to be cleaning out the attic, where a few generations of Winchester and Campbell things had gotten stored. Dean had often joked about his dad finding some priceless treasure and selling it on Antiques Roadshow. A week later, his dad went missing, and then five days later, Dean got a call from the Kansas City police. Their dad had been found in some no-name motel, self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.

So, Dean was over it. He had to be.

Bobby didn’t seem convinced. Leaning on the rickety old basement table, he started, “You know, my dad died when I was young, too.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m not,” Bobby shrugged. “I shot him.”

Dean blinked. “Uh…” He searched his brain fro the words you were supposed to say after someone admitted something like that. 

“Not really sure I could even call him a dad,” Bobby admitted, looking away. “He liked to hit my mom, and me. One day, he had a baseball bat and was coming at us, he hit her once and she fell, and he was about to hit her again and before he could I grabbed his gun.”

“Shit, man.” Dean had sometimes resented his dad for what he became in the later years, but it was never like that. He couldn't even imagine what it was like, having a father like that.

“Look, don’t you get all pitying on me, boy. That was fifty years ago,” Bobby snorted, glaring back at him. “The point is, we’re all hunters now. We’ve all got some messed up childhoods. You don’t get into this life without some tragedy.”

“I’m not here voluntarily,” Dean grunted, focusing back on the shotgun. Loading a shotgun; something he could do. This talk was heading into feelings territory, something he was definitely not comfortable with. Bobby was a cool guy, sure, but he really didn’t want to get into all the ins and outs of his situation of being treated like the angels bitch and their own little Captain America to jerk around if he wanted a hope of saving his brother.

“Yeah, I know; you just want to save your brother; I heard from Pamela.” Bobby was starting up that pitying-eye-look again. “Look kid, you’re in a rough spot, I feel you, but—”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” snapped Dean, placing the gun down on the table. “I got your gun loaded, and your shotgun shells made, so unless there’s something else we can do, then I’m done here.”

For a second, Dean was afraid Bobby wouldn’t let him go, but then the old hunter sighed and shook his baseball hat-clad head. “Yeah, we’re done.”

“Good,” muttered Dean, brushing his hands on his jeans and heading back up the stairs.

When Dean emerged from the Roadhouse cellar, there were more people downstairs than he remembered. Ellen stood her usual post behind the bar, getting drinks for everyone as Jo headed to the back to bring out food. Kevin, the nerdy little dude, sat in a corner surrounded by dusty old books, every once in a while making a note or scratching something out. Charlie and Ash were seated at another table, two laptops between them, squabbling as usual. “Look, I don’t know what program you’re using, but I’ve got it already mapped—”

“Listen, sweetheart,” Ash rolled his eyes, “You can use all that technology you got there, but it’s never gonna be as accurate as what I spent years building up here,” Ash gestured to his old and much-used laptop in front of him. Considering how beat up the thing was, with a broken and warped case and several replacement keys on the keyboard, Dean was unsure how the thing still worked.

“What’s going on?” Dean asked, cutting into Ash and Charlie’s argument.

“We’re mapping out demonic omens,” said Charlie, smiling and brushing a strand of her fiery red hair behind her shoulder. “We’ve each got our own programs set up to track them, though I’m not sure why he still bothers with that eight year old program when mine is—”

Ash rolled his eyes, cutting in, “I don’t care what you think you’ve got on that iMac ten-thousand or whatever; the best programs are the ones you nurture over years and years. And look at this,” Ash turned his laptop around so Dean could see a radar-like map that looked like the ones on the Weather Channel was on the screen. “All these things here, those are possible omens,” Ash pointed to the purplish radar spots on the screen. “I’m trying to locate the exact location, and of course, you get false positives with everything; natural thunderstorms instead of demonic electrical storms—”

“Electrical storms?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

Charlie nodded, “Electrical storms, cattle mutilations, those sort of things. You came from Lawrence, right? It started showing massive signs of demonic activity two weeks ago, but before we could send anyone—”

“I showed up here,” Dean finished for her. So, demonic omens, huh? If he had known maybe he could’ve taken Sam and gotten the Hell out of there…

Though, now that he thought about it, he doubted it. If this whole thing was prophesied, as Castiel had said, then perhaps it wouldn’t have made much difference. Just him and Sam, they were cursed, from the very beginning.

A storm of footsteps came from the stairs, and when Dean turned, Anna was standing there, her eyes wide and looking frightened. “Dean!” she said, running up to him. “The angels, they are—”

He blinked, and then he was in a grassy field in the middle of nowhere, the sky cloudy and dark above.

“What the…?” Dean looked around; the Roadhouse was gone, everyone who had been there, gone. He saw nothing around him for miles and miles. Though the grass beneath his feet was a brighter green than he would have thought for mid-November. It wasn’t as frigid was it was outside, either. In fact, he felt quite comfortable here, even though he was only wearing a light jacket.

So perhaps this wasn’t a _place_ , but a—

“You are correct,” said a voice that made Dean sigh and close his eyes for a moment, willing himself to have the strength to deal with this again. Turning around, he saw Castiel, in that trademark trench coat and ruffled hair, walking up to him. Castiel's black wings were calmer this time, folded up against his back like he normally saw from birds when they were resting. “We did not bring you to a place, but a separate plane, for the moment.”

“Great, sounds fun,” Dean rolled his eyes. “So, why did you zap me into your alternate universe here? By the way, if you were gonna make a whole new universe from scratch, you could’ve done better. Let me tell you, Sammy used to have this video game, _The Sims,_ and the shit that kid could make—”

“It’s time, Dean,” said Castiel, cutting him off. “Time for your training.”

“So, what, you gonna be my Miyagi and I’m gonna turn into Heaven’s little Karate Kid?” Dean couldn’t help but crack a smile at that one. Castiel just squinted his eyes for a moment and tilted his head—oh, yeah, that was worth it. Dean made a mental note to pull out more pop culture references later on.

“We already know your father took you hunting as a child and you were no stranger to fistfights in your youth,” Cas said it like it was nothing, though Dean took a little more pride in having been a delinquent as a kid, considering how those skills seemed to be in high demand these days. “This is training of a different sort.”

“Well get on with it, Yoda; I’ve got a Cloud City to be at.”

Castiel cocked his head again, but before Dean had the chance to relish in it, he head another voice from behind him. “Well, so _this_ is the Righteous Man,” Dean turned around, to see a taller, balder, and pudgier man standing behind him. The dark reddish-brown, rust colored wings folded up behind him indicated he was an angel as well. Huh, he didn't know wings could be colored, though he preferred Castiel's sleek black ones over those ugly rusty-colored ones. “Hm, he doesn’t look much like our prophesied savior, does he?”

Dean hid behind that cocky grin as he stared down the other angel. “And I thought you’d be taller.”

The angel chuckled. “He has a sense of humor though; he’s a good fit for you, Castiel.” Castiel said nothing, eyes on the grass. “Anyway, welcome, Dean, to our little training session. My name is Zachariah; I suppose I’ll be leading this little session.”

“Well, like I said, get on with it,” Dean rolled his eyes, having enough of angels to deal with for a lifetime already. “I got places to be, demons to kill, you know.”

“Indeed,” Zachariah smirked. “I suppose we should.” He waved his hand, and a table appeared before Dean’s eyes, with a shotgun, a pistol, a flask of presumably holy water, and several salt rounds. “Now, then, I hope the hunters we placed you with have taught you something. Here,” he waved his hand again, and a man appeared five feet away from him. At once, the man’s eyes turned black. “A basic demon. Show us what you got.”

The demon stood there, looking quite confused. Zachariah had probably zapped the guy up from wherever he had been at the moment. Whatever; it was a demon. And demons needed to be far deader as far as Dean was concerned. Dean grabbed the shotgun off the table, took one quick check to make sure it was loaded, then raised it and fired right at the demon’s chest. With a _bang!_ the demon flew back on the grass, unmoving.

Zachariah whistled. “Impressive. So you know your stuff. But that’s only how to stun one of those things. If you want to get rid of it, what do you do?”

Dean racked his brains for a moment. “Exorcism. Uh, trap the thing in a devil’s trap, read out the exorcism, and away it goes? You could also exorcise it with holy water and salt in a pinch, only if you have a way to hold the bastard down.”

“Very good,” Zachariah smirked, glancing as the demon started stirring once more. “But suppose you wanted to kill a demon?”

“Kill one of them?” Dean glanced over towards Castiel, as if asking if Zachariah was serious, but Castiel didn’t meet his gaze. This was strange. Castiel was all for talking when they first met, but now the angel was a bit sheepish with this other guy involved. “I asked Bobby, but he said there’s no way—”

“There is,” Zachariah reached into his blazer pocked, pulling out a knife that was engraved with symbols Dean had never seen before. “This is a very rare, very special knife. We had to travel back centuries to get our hands on it. This, Dean, is how you’ll lead the charge in our war.”

Zachariah held it out to Dean. Hesitant, Dean took it in his hands. Bobby had said ordinary guns and knives didn’t harm demons, so he expected to feel some sort of power or pulse coming from it, not for it to feel so _ordinary_.

The demon was getting up, and Dean flipped the knife in his hand to get a better grip. The demon snarled and got to his feet, those black eyes flashing and glaring and setting off a fire in his gut. It was because of these things that Sam was gone—that all his friends thought he was dead—why he was stuck here, with dicks with wings ordering him around and telling him he had to save the world when he wasn’t worth it—he certainly wasn’t worth it—

That anger flashed white hot, and Dean charged, grabbed the thing by the neck and slammed the knife into its chest again and again and again and again. There was a flash of red and white and the demon convulsed and then lay still, its body still flickering.

Though Dean panted, wiped blood off his cheek where it splattered, as the adrenaline died down, the sudden rage set off the faintest of alarm bells in his head. The knife blade was stained red, droplets falling on the grass below. Dean pushed the body off him, now getting a good look at it. Though he knew it was a demon, seeing those brown eyes wide and looking up, motionless at the sky, mouth-half open in an almost scream, it hit him that this _thing_ was once a person. Sure it hadn’t been a person in a long time, but it still had been _once._

He..really didn't want to think of the implications of that. 

Dean heard clapping and turned around, Zachariah was clapping and smirking in that way he did so well. “Well done, Dean. That demon didn’t even last a chance. I was sure we had the right man when fate picked you.”

“Whatever,” Dean grunted, getting to his feet. So he had killed a demon, so what? There were more out there, weren’t there? “We done here? Did you bring me here to make sure I’d be able to stomach all of this? Gimme ten more of those bastards, I’ll mow them down—”

Zachariah’s smile widened, and Dean could see the whites of his teeth. The guy kind of reminded him of a shark; pasty white, bald, and toothy. “Fine,” he waved his hand toward the empty field as another figure appeared there, this one smaller. “How about that one?”

Dean’s breath caught in his chest. A little girl stood there, looking to be about ten years old. She still wore her little nightdress, and though her eyes were black, she smiled at him with the wide eyes of an innocent child. “What?” Dean stared, before turning back to Zachariah. “You want me to kill an innocent girl?”

“That is a demon,” Zachariah spat. “You know they take children when they are young. The soul inside the body is gone. There is nothing left but a shell and that abomination within it.”

Dean turned back to the girl, teeth clenching and his fingers tightening on the knife. But even as the demon-girl giggled and flashed her black eyes again, Dean couldn’t move one step.

“Enough of this, Zachariah,” Castiel said, stepping between Dean and the demon. Castiel's black wings spread out from behind his back, forming a barrier between Dean and the child; Dean and Zachariah. Protecting _him_. Casitel waved his hand, and the girl disappeared—whether Cas had killed her or sent her back to where she had been before, Dean did not know. “I doubt he will come across any demons in child form—they usually hide until they are older, to protect their vessels that are ill-suited for combat.”

“I was only meaning to test if our Righteous Man is up to the task,” Zachariah said, wings fluttering in annoyace, as Dean thrust the knife in his belt.

“You finished?” Dean glared at him, wishing there were a way to shut the rest of these angels up. For the great, majestic servants of Heaven, they sure were annoying pricks. “Thanks for the knife, can I go back now? The other hunters were trying to put together some demonic omens so we could go gank some demons.”

“Not quite,” said Zachariah, circling Dean like he was a hawk and Dean was the prey; Zachariah's wings doing a good imitaton of a bird readying to strike.  “Do you have any idea what those demonic omens your hunter band is digging up will lead to?”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here, and say demons.”

Zachariah scoffed. “Yes, _demons_ , but besides that. The apocalypse is starting, and you don’t even know what you are dealing with?”

Okay, Dean was getting very done with this guy’s shit. “No, I _don’t_ , jackass! I thought that’s what you brought me here to tell me!”

Before Zachariah could retort, Castiel stepped in once again, “That’s why we did bring you here, Dean,” he said in a weary tone. “Not just to make sure you were ready to strike, but also to let you know things of great import.”

“All right, shoot, we’re wasting daylight.”

 “Fine,” Zachariah shrugged, acting as if this simple thing was almost too much for him— _dick._ “You know the demons are massing now, trying to unleash Lucifer on Earth, right?”

“Yeah, that’s why—” Dean gulped, “That’s why they took Sam. They need him.”

Zachariah nodded. “Correct. The Antichrist is the vessel that Lucifer will fill, if they open the door.”

“And this door is hidden or something?”

“Oh, they know where the door is; they have known since Lucifer was sealed down it, eons ago, can’t be helped,” Zachariah gave one of those ‘oh well’ sort of gestures. “But they can’t just waltz up to it and open the door like that. First, they have to undo the locks.”

“…And how many locks are there?” Because _thank God_ , the angels didn’t just shut the door on the devil without locking it, right?

Castiel might’ve sensed that Dean was getting tired of talking to Zachariah and instead took the wheel. “There are many seals, but the demons only need to open sixty six of them. One all the seals are broken, they can go to the door and unleash Lucifer, beginning the apocalypse.”

“So that’s what the demonic omens lead to, seals?”

Castiel nodded. “The Antichrist rising and the Righteous Man being found was the first. Now, the demons will go after any seal they can get their hands on. Some are time sensitive—seals that can only be broken during a solstice and such, others can be done at any time. That’s what gives them the offense; we don’t know which ones they will go after until we start spotting the omens. And they can break any of them all around the world. Our soldiers are trying to hold the line, and keep the seals from breaking, but unless the Righteous Man jumps into the fray—”

“In short, Kiddo, we need you. You’ll give the grunts hope,” Zachariah said, chuckling. “Once they know the Righteous Man has joined the fight, they’ll start getting a new fire under their wings.”

“So that’s what you want me to do; be a freaking symbol?”

“We need you to do what you can,” said Castiel, a pity in his eyes; God, Dean _hated_ that look. He didn't want to be pitied by some dick with wings.

“And, we also need you to kill the Antichrist,” Zachariah added. “That is your destiny, after all.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll kill Azazel as slow and as painful as I can, but after that I’m taking Sam back. Problem solved.”

For once, Zachariah didn’t smile. That asshattish grin of his finally faded. “Your destiny is to kill the Antichrist, surely you know this.”

“Yeah, and my brother _isn’t_ the Antichrist. His body might have some freaky power in it, but that’s not Sam. And, before you assholes correct me, Sam is still in there, so that means there is some way to save him.”

Zachariah’s eyes narrowed, his wings rising once more, making him appear much more menacing than a chubby old dude in a suit should possibly look. “Are you telling me you know better than angels, _boy?_ This whole thing has been planned for millennia; it was written down by prophets whose names have long been forgotten—”

“And _I’m_ saying you don’t know Sam!” Dean stepped closer, meeting the angel eye-to-eye, “And if there’s one thing I’ll _never_ do, is kill Sam!”

Zachariah turned away with an annoyed grunt, his wings folding themselves against him once more. “Castiel, talk some sense into your charge. I will report back that this training session was _mostly_ a success.” With that, he disappeared.

“You should not have annoyed Zachariah,” said Castiel as soon as he was gone. “He is of great importance in Heaven.”

“He’s also a dick!” Dean glared. “And come on Casiel—Castel— _Cas_ , how do you think I was gonna take it when he started talking to me about ganking Sam?”

Castiel seemed a bit taken by surprise by the sudden nickname, but didn’t seem to show emotion otherwise. Dude never showed emotion. “It _is_ written that the Righteous Man shall kill the Antichrist.”

“Oh, it says that, huh?” Dean’s hands clenched into fists, his fingernails digging crescent-moons into his palms.

“’ _With the help of his guardian angel, the Righteous Man shall obliterate the Antichrist, and peace shall reign on Earth.’_ ” Castiel recited, as if he had heard it many times before. “That is what prophets wrote many centuries ago, what God had foreseen even before my birth. It is your destiny, Dean, you can’t back out of it.”

“I won’t kill my brother, Cas,” Dean said, begging, perhaps pleading that force of nature stuck in a meatsuit to understand. “He’s my _brother_. Besides, you said he might be dead, but he’s _not_. Pamela—the psychic with the hunters—she did a spell, and I talked to him. _Talked to his soul,_ Cas. He’s still on Earth, still alive, so I won’t kill him when there’s a chance I could save him!”

That seemed to get a reaction out of Cas. His eyebrows went up, “You talked to him?”

“Well, talked to his soul anyway; soul skyped or something, but yeah. He’s still alive. He didn’t know what happened, but he’s there. He can be saved! So don’t you _dare_ tell me I have to kill him when—”

But Cas wasn’t listening. His blue eyes were on the grass, obviously thinking hard as he spoke to himself, “I don’t understand; the superiors surely would have been able to sense if Sam Winchester’s soul is still on Earth…”

“Well, your bosses missed something! Come on, Cas,” Dean stepped closer, and though he still didn’t like angels, at least this one seemed somewhat decent. He put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, the movement startling the poor angel, who probably didn’t get the intricacies of physical contact yet. “He’s my _brother._ And now I know I can save him. Please, help me save him.”

Cas averted his eyes. “I was ordered to do what I must to ensure the Antichrist was taken out by you.”

“Cas!” And yeah, now Dean was down to begging. “You just said it yourself, they missed something! I’m telling you, my brother is _alive_ , I’ll prove it to you if I have to, but he’s still in there. Imagine if you were asked to kill one of your brothers! Please man, you’re the only one who will help me, please, help me save my brother!”

It was a long time before Castiel finally met his eyes, his own blue and intense as ever. “I…I do not know what I can do…what I am allowed to do; there are orders I must obey and disobedience is a great sin,  but…” The angel exhaled, as if making a decision, “I will try. If I can, I will help you save your brother.”

And Dean couldn’t help it; he smiled for the first time since his world had been turned upside down. “Thanks, Cas.”

Cas sighed again, looking away, towards the dark, cloudy fake-sky. “I suppose, I understand what it is like, knowing you must fight a brother you love so much. Being told you might have to kill that brother even though it tears you apart at the thought of it…Yes, I understand, Dean Winchester. And, if I can, I will make sure you do not feel that pain.”

“You know what it’s like?”

“I do,” Cas nodded, before turning back to Dean, his blue eyes hard. “That brother of mine…was Lucifer.” 


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and the other hunters set out to save a seal.

“We got it!” Ash and Charlie yelled amidst the flurry of activity in the Roadhouse. Shotguns were being loaded, knives sharpened, holy water being…holied.

“Got ‘it’?” asked Dean, setting down the shotgun shell he was filling with rock salt.

“The location of the next seal,” Charlie explained, grin on her face. She spread out a crinkled map on the nearest free table, pushing crucifixes and silver bullets aside. Dean, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, and Kevin crowded over to it. “Derbyfield, Iowa.”

“We got demonic omens all around the place,” Ash pointed at the town, drawing an invisible circle with his finger. “And last week, the residents were forced to evacuate due to an underground coal fire. Since then, the demonic ones have exploded.”

“So you’re thinkin’ a seal?” asked Bobby.

“Seal of what?” said Dean, staring at the map of Iowa, his finger tracing the interstate that led to the town.

“Don’t know,” shrugged Charlie. “I suppose you guys will figure it out when you get there.”

“All right then,” said Ellen, as she exchanged glances with Bobby. “Looks like we’re leavin’ as soon as we’re packed up.”

The other hunters went to gather all their things from their respective rooms; Dean had learned that all hunters kept a packed duffel at all times, since you never knew when you might have to leave at once. But Dean couldn’t just rush off at the drop of a hat so easily. “Wait a minute,” he said, brows furrowed, “We’re leaving _now?”_

“Well, _yeah._ ” Bobby tilted his head as if he was speaking to a child. “Unless, of course, you’d like to wait around for the demons to break the seal first.”

“No, I mean, this is kinda…sudden, isn’t it?” A sort of slightly-stressed smile slipped from his mouth. “Shouldn’t we, I dunno, confirm this first?”

“Listen, kid,” said Ellen, who at least gave the impression that she was somewhat sympathetic. “You’re new to this, and I get it, but listen up; if you hear about demons, and you wait around to verify it, or more than likely, whatever it is you’re trying to save will end up dead.”

Dean sucked in a breath, dropping the subject. Ellen was right; he _was_ new to this. Sure, he wasn’t eager to go jump into a nest of _demons_ , but well, at this point, he didn’t have much of a choice.

For all their rituals and rigid way of life, at least the hunters were efficient; not much longer than an hour later, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, and Dean were all packed up and ready to go. The rest of the folks at the Roadhouse, Pamela, Ash, Charlie, Anna, and Kevin, would remain. They weren’t hunters, as Jo had explained, “Every hunter group has their support team. Charlie and Ash do the technical stuff, Kevin handles most of the research, and Pamela handles all the psychic needs.”

“And Anna?” Dean hadn’t seen much of the strange girl in his time in the Roadhouse, but she was always a constant presence; quiet, but there.

“She doesn’t really have anywhere else to go,” said Jo, matter-of-factly, as she packed away some spare guns. “Angels and demons both want to get their hands on nephlims. But she helps out when she can.”

Dean had nodded, imagining what that was like, on the run from both sides. Knowing that there was no true safe place for you. Though it was Anna’s business, he couldn’t deny that it piqued his curiosity.  How were nephlims even _made?_ He wasn’t aware angels had the… _junk_ …to breed with humans. And why did demons want to get their hands on her? For her weird Angel Radio, perhaps? “How did you guys find her?”

The corner’s of Jo’s mouth tipped down, as if the thought had dredged up a bad memory. “It was a few months before you came here, actually. Ash found some demonic omens, and we followed them to a psychiatric hospital. Demons had sieged the place. We fought our way in and discovered _her._ She had covered the room in strange sigils; stuff she said would keep out both angels and demons. That was the first time we heard about them, actually. The angels.”

“Wait a minute,” Dean put down the bag of salt he had been packing. “You guys didn’t know about angels before this?”

Jo shook her head. “It’s strange, actually. My dad was a hunter, before he died. And then mom married Bobby, so I’ve always known that there were demons and monsters and ghosts and so much stuff that went bump in the night out there, but angels have eluded hunters for hundreds of years. And then, I’d say it was about a year ago, things just got strange. Demons being killed in weird ways, you know, looking like they were vaporized or blown out from the inside. We were seeing signs of things we didn’t recognize. Pamela said she could sense something was walking the earth once more, something powerful. And then we met Anna and, well, everything just fell into place.”

“And then I came along.”

“And then you came along,” Jo nodded.

“So, what’s it like?” asked Dean, his thumb running along the handle of the demon-killing knife in his belt. “Being raised in this life?”

Jo kind of smiled to herself. “Well, when I told my dad that I thought there was a monster in my closet, he handed me a .45.”

Dean laughed, the first laugh to pass his lips in ages. “That bad, huh?”

“Well, not as bad as some had it.” Jo stuffed a box of ammunition into a duffel. “With the Roadhouse, I always had a place to come home to. Not everyone is so lucky; it’s a life of dirty motel rooms, cold truckstop food, hours driving backroads. A life of lies, trying to fly under the radar from police, fighting day in and day out and knowing if you make one mistake, you or tons of others will end up dead. Its living as a criminal, alone and in the shadows, not given even one word of thanks, while at the same time, you know you’re all that’s standing between some poor bastard dying in some of the worst ways imaginable.”

“Damn,” was all Dean could think to say.

“So, I guess you’re lucky,” said Jo, turning back to him and smiling. “Though you’re life kind of sucks now, at least you had a normal life, for a while.”

Dean let out a slow breath, looking down at the duffel bag he was supposed to fill with salt and holy water and exorcisms and rosaries and the rest of the demon-proofing gear. “I just want that normal life again,” he admitted, staring down at all that junk and what had become of his life through thick lashes. “I wanna see Sammy again, happy and carefree and _alive_ , going to his dream school with his dream girl. That’s all I ever wanted. I just…I hope we make it through this, and even if we do, I know, nothing is ever gonna be the same again.”

Jo placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You don’t know that,” she said, genuine comfort in her eyes.  “The angels said this is it, right? If they win, then it’ll be all over. You can go back to your normal life, Dean.”

Dean clenched his hands into fists, his fingernails digging tender half-moons into his palms. “Yeah…maybe…” he said, though he didn’t really mean it. How could he go back to a normal life after this? Go back to his job at the garage, go back to Lisa…And she probably thought he was dead, didn’t she? Besides now that he knew what was out there, what monsters lay under the bed and in the shadows, it would be impossible.

No, though he could wish with all his might, a normal life was far beyond his reach for good.

Before they left the Roadhouse, Dean wondered briefly if he should contact Cas to let him know he was going demon hunting. Castiel had said to pray to him when he needed his help. Dean wasn’t so sure though; after all, what help could an angel offer that a bunch of experienced hunters couldn’t handle? Cas was supposed to be his guardian angel. He’d show if he thought he was in any danger, right?

Plus, he was really kinda _sick_ of these angel dicks already.

\----------------------------------------

Just as Ash and Charlie had said, Derbyfield, Iowa had been evacuated. Bobby actually had to flash what was obviously a fake State Police badge at some actual police to get past the roadblock. While the police may have been suspicious of the truck carrying four people and a bunch of suitcases and duffel bags, Dean learned that a real-looking badge and a flawless act could get you in anywhere.

As soon as they were on the outskirts of the city, the trunk was popped, bags unzipped, and shotguns loaded. “All right,” said Ellen, since taking charge seemed to be her usual fare. “I haven’t seen any of those black-eyed bastards yet, but I know they’re here. We gotta stop ‘em before they get whatever it is that we want.”

“Have you called in any other hunters?” Dean asked Bobby, as Bobby loaded a shotgun with rock-salt shells.

“I told Rufus and a few of his buddies to keep an eye on the surrounding area,” the old hunter said, clicking the shotgun shut. “But we can handle this.”

“How?” Dean gaped at the three other hunters, dumbstruck that apparently a town full of demons was ‘no big deal’. “Have you forgotten that this town is overrun with _demons?”_

Bobby rolled his eyes. “That’s what exorcisms are for, ya idjit.” He handed Dean a piece of paper. “Keep that in your pocket. You’ll need it.” Bobby glanced back at Jo, near the car. “Do you have the stuff?”Jo nodded, coming over with a small sack. “Good girl.”

“All right, here’s the plan,” said Ellen, shutting the door of the truck. “Shoot any demon you see. That’ll stun ‘em. We’ll stay in a group. We have plenty of spray paint, so we can trap some of them in devil’s traps. Others, we’ll just have to exorcise then and there. Take out as many as you can, until we find out what this seal is and how to keep it from breaking. Once we stop that, we’re gonna get out of here. _Stay together_ , got it? You go off on your own, you might end up dead.”

“I also got this demon-killing knife, if you haven’t forgotten?” Dean pulled the ancient knife out of his belt, running his finger along the serrated edge, the strange symbols etched into the metal.

“You’re on demon-killing duty,” she said, with a smirk “Any of ‘em come at us too fast, stab ‘em. Any of them don’t wanna talk, then you know what to do.”

Dean nodded, down with that. “Right. So let’s go gank some bitches.”

They had barely stepped into the town when the demons came at them. A few at first, and then more and more. For a split second when Dean saw those black-eyed creeps running toward them, hands outstretched like talons, ready to strike, he froze up, a shiver of fear ran though him— _What was he doing here? He was just some mechanic from Kansas, he shouldn’t be here, knife in his hand, ready to take on tons of demons—_ Then the adrenaline kicked in as Jo fired a shot off at the demon on his right.

His heart pounding  a fast tempo in his chest, he allowed instinct to guide him. Ready, aim, fire. Hack, slash. Dodge, turn, hit. He shot a demon coming at his right and then twisted to stab a demon on his left. In the corner of his eye, he saw Bobby and Ellen working as a team, shooting as many demons as came at them. Every now and then, they were able to trap a demon in a quick devil’s trap or a ring of salt on the ground, but with most, they found a way to finish them off. Dean tossed his knife to Jo and watched as she kickboxed a demon back to Hell, plunging the knife deep into his chest.

But the demons just kept on coming and coming. Dean couldn’t remember how many they had taken down already; how many he had killed. It was the only way to keep going, not to tire out from the constant fighting, the constant pounding of his heart and heavy breaths in his chest, the sweat running off his brow.

_Hack._

_Slash._

_Shoot._

_Fire._

_Dodge._

_Punch._

_Lunge._

_Jump._

_Repeat._

_Pause._

Dean finally got a look around at his surroundings once the dust had temporarily settled. They had advanced from the outskirts to a lonely little residential street, empty houses and abandoned cars as far as they could see. There were probably still demons out there, waiting to attack, but for now, it was quiet.

Jo shook the sweat out of her eyes, and gave a little sigh of relief. “Well, time for a break, I guess,” she said, smiling a bit as she gave Dean back his knife. Both of them went to join Bobby and Ellen, who were working on a demon they had managed to catch in a Devil’s Trap.

The demon was in a body that looked about twenty years old, having fallen flat on his back by the salt round that had knocked him down. Ellen had painted a quick Devil’s Trap around him while he lay injured, something the older hunters had apparently done so many times, it was probably routine now. The demon glared up at them both, but even Dean, new to this game, could see the fear in his eyes. But that was strange; how could something like _that_ , something so evil, feel any measure of fear?

“I’m gonna ask you this one last time,” said Bobby, holding a gallon jug of holy water idly in his hand. “Where is the seal?”

The demon shook his head. “I don’t know what you are talking about—there’s no seal—“

Bobby splashed the holy water in the demon’s face. The demon screamed and wailed as the water burned into his skin; wriggling and writhing but he was powerless to escape the Devil’s Trap. After another long, drawn out scream, the demon focused his eyes back up, holy water still sizzling on his skin, “I won’t say anything,” he growled, black eyes flashing. “Go on, send me back to Hell, I don’t care.”

“Well, too bad for you,” said Dean, stepping forward, idly playing with the demon-killing knife in his hands. “You see, I dunno what you think you’ve stepped into here, but you seem to think that we’re gonna send you back to Hell for not cooperating. That’s just what we’ll do to you _if_ you cooperate,” Dean smirked, flashing all his teeth, playing it for all its worth. “You’re forgetting you’re dealing with the Righteous Man here, and let me tell you, when it comes to demons, I don’t feel so righteous. So, here’s the deal; you tell us what’s going down and we’ll send you back to Hell. If ya don’t, then I’ll stab you here with this little knife, and we’ll see if demons have somewhere they go when they die, hmm?”

The demon glanced between Dean and the knife in his hands, eyes flickering back and forth and obviously attempting to come to some kind of decision. “They’re in the church!” He spat.

“All right,” Dean stood up, nodding to Bobby and Ellen. “You take it from here, I’ll—”

As soon as the demon had revealed the plot, all Hell broke loose, literally. Demons poured from every house on the street. Ellen finished the exorcism and got back into the fray as they shot, stabbed, and salted everything in their way.

“Dean, Jo, go!” Ellen called after them, as they got separated in the crowd. “Head to the church! We’ll hold them  off!”

Dean and Jo exchanged a single glance before they drove through the crowd, fighting their way to the church at the end of the street.

The church was on e of those tiny little country churches with a single lone steeple, maybe two floors, and without the added on basketball court and reception hall and whatever the fuck else they were building into their new churches these days. Demons still came at them at every turn, and the mechanical part of Dean’s mind turned back on, allowing him to turn and stab and gut everything in his way. Jo was pretty adept with the shotgun in her hands, but salt rounds couldn’t cut it with this many on their tail.

They somehow plowed through to the church, their backs against the peeling wooden door, blowing away every demon that got too close. While Jo was taking care of apparently someone’s creaky eighty-year-old grandmother turned crazy-demon, Dean turned around and worked on prying the door open. Once he got it open a crack, he looked back at Jo, currently taking on two former Real Housewives of Bumfucksville. “C’mon!” he yelled, grabbing her hand and pulling her in. Dean held the door shut against the demonic hoard as Jo stuffed a nearby chair under the handle.

Once they were sure it was secure, Dean wiped the sweat off his forehead and allowed himself to take a breath. Behind him, the great sanctuary of the church was empty—overturned pews looking up at a desecrated altar. The stained glass windows were all broken, whether it was a result of demons taking over the town or those same demons deciding to dick around, Dean didn’t know.

There was a noise in the backroom. Dean nodded toward Jo and he followed her, knife ready in his hands. All right, so they’d bust in there, break up the demon party, stop the seal from being broken, and then all go out for beer afterwards. Good plan. They crept towards the backroom, weapons raised, ready to burst through the door and blow away anything that lie past it.

Looking through the crack in the door, Dean saw a faint glow, a fire perhaps? He nodded to Jo; she readied her shotgun, and on a silent count of three, they burst through the door—

A pyre was set up in the center of the room, with two demons tied to the pole in the middle. The bonfire was a light, fire slowly creeping up toward their ankles. “This ain’t no neighborhood barbecue!” Dean said to Jo, as they ran to cut them loose, and keep the seal intact. Two demons in the corner of the room rushed Dean as he defended Jo as she went to deal with the demons about to deep fry to break the seal. Dean fought them off, dodging a punch and slicing the jugular of the other. One more quick stab, and he saw a lone body fleeing toward the stairwell.

“Hey!” Dean yelled, chasing after the figure. No demon was gonna get away from him! For a split second, the tall demon turned back at him, hair long and flying around its face, and that’s when Dean saw them;

_Yellow eyes._

It hit him like a punch in the gut. “Sam?” Dean breathed.

Sam, or _Azazel,_ as Dean remembered, turned away and didn’t stay for his reaction. Despite the emotions swirling in Dean’s gut and the fact that his stomach threatened to upend on him, Dean managed to tune it out and collect himself. “Hey! Come back here!” Gripping the demon-killing knife tight in his hands, Dean raced up the stairs, his boots pounding on the old wood.

A door shut above; Dean turned a corner on the upstairs hall and saw the room at the end, his mind just a one track thought of _Sam. Sammy. Get to Sam!_

Dean burst through the door at the end of the hall, but at first glance, the room was dim and empty. No one, especially not his Sasquatch of a brother, was inside. “ _Sam?”_ Dean yelled, stepping forward into that dark, dusty room. “Azazel, whatever the Hell your name is? Come on out, you bitch!”

“Well, now that’s rude,” said a voice from behind him. A _female_ voice. Dean turned, gripping the knife tighter in his hand. A woman stepped out from where she had been hiding beside the doorframe, her hand idly shutting the door; Dean’s only exit. “And here I thought we might actually get off on the right foot.” When she stepped closer, Dean got a good look at her; long, wavy dark hair, dark eyes, lips upturned into a twisted smile. She dressed in a leather jacket, leather boots, kind of like biker girl lite.

“Where is he?” Dean demanded, in no mood to play around with demon bitches.

“Oh, he’s long gone,” the woman said, walking closer, her hips swinging with each step, her boots clicking on the wooden floor. “Nice to meet you, Righteous Man. I’m Meg.”

“Yeah, whatever, _bitch,_ ” Dean glared. “Tell me where he is, and I won’t have to kill you.”

Meg laughed a cold, calculating laugh. “The Antichrist is gone, Dean Winchester. You won’t be able to catch him now. Pity, he didn’t get to see his seal break.”

Dean let a smirk slip past his lips. “That’s where you’re wrong, _bitch._ We stopped it. The seal will remain intact.”

“Oh I know, but you think this is the end? There are other seals; other places we can go to break all the locks on the door. And be sure, they will break.” Meg grinned wider, raising a hand towards him. “Pity, you won’t be able to see it.”

That was when Dean was thrown back against the far wall, the demon killing knife knocked out of his hands. He let loose a gasp as the air was shoved out of his lungs. He fell to the floor, hitting hard on his right side, stunned and sore as Meg’s boots clicked closer to him.

“I’m not like other demons,” she said, chuckling.

“Yeah,” Dean coughed, clutching his pained chest as he rose up on his forearms. “You’re uglier than most.”

Meg knelt down, catching Dean’s chin in her hand. “Think you’re funny, do you?” Dean gave her his best _“fuck you demon bitch”_ glare while slowly reaching for the knife off to his side. “It’s really too bad I have to kill you; you’re a lot prettier than I expected.”

Meg stood up and Dean attempted to shield what he was reaching for with his body. Closer…closer…one inch…another…

Meg slammed her heel down on Dean’s arm as his fingers touched the blade. Dean cried out as he felt something snap and an explosion of pain; he continued to gasp as she removed her heel and cradled his arm to his chest.

“Nice try,” she crooned, reaching down to pick up the knife. “But you’ll have to do better than that.”

She raised the knife above his head, and Dean only had a second to think, _Fuck, I’m gonna be killed by my own fucking demon knife?_

“How about this?” a deep voice growled, and then Dean’s vision went black.

More specifically, black and feathery, as two familiar black wings appeared, stretching out in front of him. Dean knew those wings anywhere. “Cas!”

“Hmph, I expected you sooner,” said Meg. “Angels, man. Way above my pay grade.”

“Then maybe you should’ve trusted your instincts.” Castiel waved his hand, looking to Dean like he was gonna try the Jedi mind trick thing, and then the demon-killing knife appeared in his fist.

Meg looked down at her empty hand, and grinned, “Oh, I like you. But think I’m gonna bail for now. See you around, Clarence.” Castiel took one step toward her, hand outstretched, when black smoke erupted from her mouth. It collected and twisted and then escaped under the crack in the door. Meg’s lifeless body fell to the ground, her black boots clicking on the wooden floor one last time.

With her gone, Castiel turned towards Dean, his glare unwavering. Dean smiled while standing up, still careful of his broken arm. “Thanks, Man. Without you, I’d be demon bait.”

“You most certainly would have been,” Castiel’s wings fluttered indigently. “Why didn’t you call for me and tell me you were planning this foolish attack?”

Dean blinked. Well, Cas had a point. He had considered it, but…“Look, I just, forgot, okay? We kinda were shot on time—”

“I am your guardian angel!” yelled Castiel, his eyes like blue fire; scorching, yet icy and piercing all the same. “It is my job to protect you! What if I hadn’t gotten word that there were demons here and the Righteous Man had come to kill them? What if you had died? Then our hopes for preventing the apocalypse would have been dashed and Hell on Earth would have been unleashed!” Cas shoved an angry finger in his face. “There is _more_ at stake than just your life!”

If Dean’s arm wasn’t broken, he would’ve clenched his fists.  Maybe shoved a finger right back in Cas’s stupid face. He winced once more as he shifted and touched his arm—damn, that hurt! “Dude, we just saved a fucking seal since you angels dropped the ball! Maybe if you guys hadn’t been floating around the clouds and actually saw what was going on down here, you might’ve been up to speed!”

Castiel stepped forward, his wings fanning out behind him, getting all up in Dean’s space. If it was anyone else, Dean would’ve stepped back because, dude, personal space? But he wasn’t gonna give this angel the satisfaction of knowing how creepy that was. He contented himself to glare down (ha! still taller than him!) at Castiel. “I’m not here to perch on your shoulder,” Cas said, voice low and angry. “I am here to make sure you don’t die when fulfilling your duty as the Righteous Man. Next time you decide to do something so foolish, pray to me, and I will at least be here to ensure you remain alive.”

“Well, thanks, I’m alive, now are you gonna use your angel mojo to heal me or are ya gonna leave me like this?” Dean raised his broken arm, clenching his teeth and hissing  as a shot of fiery pain ran through his veins.

Castiel squinted, his frown deepening, and then he blinked out existence. Dean rolled his eyes and yelled toward the sky, “Asshole!”

It wasn’t long afterward that Jo made her way upstairs to find Dean leaning against the wall, holding his broken arm tight to his chest. Jo helped him up, informing him that  the others were on their way.

And so they had done it. They had saved a seal and kept the apocalypse one step away from happening. Still, Dean couldn’t forget those yellow eyes staring through him before turning away, fading into darkness.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel learn a few things about each other.

Christmas was a quiet affair at the Roadhouse. Bobby, Ellen, and Jo had gone off to meet Garth to take care of a nest of vampires in Washington. As for Dean, he was stuck with the rest of the “support team”, no thanks to fucking Cas for not fucking bothering to heal his broken fucking arm.

It wasn’t terrible, honestly; the doctor said it would heal in a quick five to six weeks, but that was still five to six weeks he was stuck with a cast playing house with a bunch of psychics and half-angels and paranormal investigators and a freaking _prophet of the Lord_ while everyone else got to go have fun slaying Edward Cullen wannabes. It didn’t matter if Kevin drew a really sweet looking Yoda on his cast, he didn’t feel any better about this.

Even as the snow piled up outside the Roadhouse and Ash and Charlie decided to get all festive with trees and stockings and music and _presents_ , all of that still couldn’t hide the fact that this was Dean’s first Christmas without his brother.

Last year, they had family Christmas at home, with Sammy and Jess over as they watched lame Christmas movies and opened presents. Sam had bought him _The Essential Vonnegut Collection¸_ which of course he had plowed through on his days off. Dean had sat at their kitchen table, sipping egg nog, and remembered the look in Sam’s eyes as he looked at Jess every time she laughed. That was one of the first times Dean really saw how in love his brother was, and how good this girl was for him.

It was only a year ago, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

All of this contributed to the general gloom Dean had floating about by the time Christmas actually came. He got a few presents, actually; Ash and Charlie had dug up an ancient computer to give him, and though it was probably around when Tupac was still around, it could get porn, so good enough. Kevin found him some really old book that described the various monsters and how to kill them, apparently to bring Dean up to speed on all the things that were out there. There were actually a lot of things Dean really could have lived without learning existed. Especially those fucking changlings. Pamela also gave him a present, a pendant with a pentagram-like symbol carved into it, “For keeping the demons out of ya,” she had said.

Dean had felt guilty about the whole thing, because he didn’t get anyone else anything (actually, Christmas had kind of snuck up on him; it wasn’t like there was any use checking the dates anymore), but Anna had stayed out of the gift giving as well. “It’s hard to get people gifts when you can’t leave the house,” she had said, with a sad sort of smile.

Charlie and Ash had set up a projector in the closed-down bar so they could watch classic Christmas movies. Dean didn’t really give a crap about seeing _Miracle on 34 th Street_ for like the hundredth time; instead, he opted to go to the basement. He had remembered the ingredients for Pamela’s spell, and used it to call Sam once again. He had done it a few times since she had first shown him how; being able to talk to his brother’s spirit was oddly comforting, reminding him that though Sam wasn’t physically there, he was still able to be talked to.

 _How’s the broken arm?_ Sam had asked; Dean had lamented about the arm at length before.

_“Broken.”_

_Ha-ha_. Even through a weird soul link thing, Dean could sense Sam’s sarcasm. _When do you get the cast off?_

_“Just after the new year. Damn that fucking winged asshat; he could’ve healed me and he didn’t!”_

_Well, from what you told me, he did seem pretty annoyed at you, Dean. If this angel is supposed to look after you, you should probably tell him where you’re going next time._

_“I don’t need to hear that from you.”_ Dean pouted, despite the room being empty and his eyes being closed as he concentrated and inhaled the smoke. _“Speaking of, are you picking up anything? Do you know where they are hiding out, or where they are planning on breaking the next seal?”_

_I told you before, Dean, I don’t know. I just get—uh, flashes of stuff, I guess. Sorry, but I can’t say anything…and, you know, besides, even if I could, I wouldn’t want to lead you into danger. From what I can tell, this place where they’re keeping me—my body, I mean—is a nest with tons of demons. They wanted to give the Antichrist the best protection they could._

_“Well, that doesn’t make sense, considering I saw Azazel walking around with your meatsuit in Iowa when they were trying to break the seal. You sure you don’t know anything about that?”_

_I told you Dean, I don’t—I can’t answer anymore than that._

_“Okay, okay, fine,”_ Dean knew it was best not to push his currently non-corporeal brother, but still, this was a setback when they really needed to find the demons and find them _now._ “ _But why would the douche flee when he saw me? I thought he was all about making the Antichrist kill the Righteous Man and all that…”_

_I dunno, maybe…maybe he didn’t want to risk damaging my body? I mean, they need my body to be a vessel for Lucifer when they raise him and—_

_“Whoa, how do you know about that?”_ Dean hadn’t told Sammy that particular piece of information; he didn’t think his brother could handle the whole “Lucifer wants to jump your bones” thing.

There was silence for a second, as if Sam wasn’t sure himself. _I must’ve somehow picked up on it from the little flashes I see. I sometimes can overhear conversations and stuff, you know._

_“Yeah, okay…”_

There was a pause before Sam spoke again. _Dean, if this is too much…perhaps you shouldn’t worry about saving me._

“ _Sam—”_

_No, I’m serious, Dean. Maybe it’s too much to hope for that I can be saved—_

_“Stop it, Sam!”_ Though Dean’s mind floated in some weird inter-dimensional space where he could speak with Sam, he felt his one good hand clench into a fist back in the Roadhouse basemen; a weird sensation that tied him down to the physical world. _“I won’t let my little brother die just because some fucking demon decided he was gonna wear you to the prom, all right? Besides, though Cas is a dick, I do have an angel on my side that said he’d help save you, so I’m not in this alone, all right? I got backup, and I sure as Hell am not gonna give up just because the going gets tough.”_

Another pause, and then, _Dean, what…what if I told you I didn’t want…_ Sam got quiet.

“ _Didn’t want what?”_

 _Nevermind,_ Sam said in hurried tones. _Merry Christmas_. And before Dean could respond, Sam cut the connection.

Dean let out an annoyed sigh as his consciousness was thrown back into his body. Sam usually enjoyed their conversations together, but he had seemed awful antsy lately. Why Sam would suddenly cut him off like that? Given that he was a soul floating around in space, he probably didn’t have much to do but talk to Dean every so often.

Still, it didn’t matter about Sam’s protests. Dean would do everything in his power to save his brother. That’s what he was there for. He had failed once; he wouldn’t fail again.

As Dean trudged back upstairs, he noticed everyone was crowded around the projector Ash and Charlie had set up, except for Anna. She was sitting in a corner of the room, engrossed in a book. Dean found that odd. Though, actually, everything about Anna was pretty odd. Despite the fact that she was a part of the Roadhouse team, she often stayed back, kept quiet, and only spoke up if she heard something interesting on Angel Radio. Dean had been there for two months, but he had only really talked to her a handful of times.

“Hey,” said Dean, coming over to her and sitting down at the lonely table. “ _A Christmas Story_ not your thing?”

Anna briefly glanced at him before returning to her book. “Not really.”

Silence. Dean swallowed and awkwardly shuffled his feet. “So, anything new on Angel Radio Hour?”

She shook her head without even looking back at him. “I used to hear a lot more before the angels found out about me. Now that they know someone is listening, they take care to ‘speak on a different frequency’, I guess. Though sometimes if they are upset, or excited, or just forget, I hear them. Like the day you were coming, for example. The angels kept on talking about how it had begun; how the Righteous Man had been found.” Anna flicked her eyes back to his. “They’re always going on about how now that the Righteous Man is on their side, they can’t lose.”

Dean snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I bet if they knew about this,” Dean raised his cast, “They’d be lining right up behind me to kick some demon ass.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Anna closed her book, turning towards him. “They have a lot of faith in you. They say that only the Righteous Man will be able to stop the apocalypse and end it.”

Dean looked up toward the ceiling, a shaky laugh escaping his lips. “Why? Why the Hell would they even think that? I’m just a guy from Kansas; I’m nothing special.”

“But you are the Righteous Man. And there is something about you that the angels have faith in.” Anna chewed her bottom lip for a moment. “Angels don’t talk about someone unless they are powerful or dangerous.”

“Is that why they talk about you?” Was it okay to talk about this? It was a personal sort of thing, probably, but he was just so curious…“Jo told me that both angels and demons are after you.”

Anna glanced away, toward the back of the room where Ash, Charlie, Kevin, and Pamela were enjoying their Christmas movie marathon. “Nephlims aren’t welcome with angels or demons. I guess we’re not really welcome with humans, either, come to think of it.”

“Jo told me they found you in a mental hospital.” Anna’s fingers tightened on the book she was holding but she didn’t look back. The thought must’ve dragged up some bad memories. “You know, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to—”

“No, it’s all right,” she shook her head. “To tell the truth, life was actually easier in the mental ward. My mother never knew who my father was, and I always felt different from others. I’ve been able to hear the angels for as long as I can remember, and at first my mother thought I just had imaginary friends, but it got to the point where I was being diagnosed left and right, having to take twenty pills a day and yet the voices still didn’t let up. The angels are always buzzing with information, about their assignments and prophecies and saving the world and watching humanity and hearing all of it, twenty four hours a day was making me crazier and crazier.” Anna’s blue eyes met his, “It was actually easier once they found me; they started ‘switching frequencies’, if you will, so I was able to get some rest from hearing it night and day.”

“Jo said demons were after you first?”

“That’s right,” Anna nodded. “I could feel them, and see their true faces. They placed one in the ward, and every time I saw him, I would scream and hide. They tried to take me, but I overheard angels discussing ways to deal with demons, so I managed to create a devil’s trap in my room to keep them out for a while. The angels must have been after me too, but the hunters got to me first, and hid me from both of them. I really don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Though Anna smiled slightly at that, Dean saw the sadness behind her eyes; the loneliness in them. “I think I understand that,” he nodded. “I really don’t have anywhere else to go, either.”

“But you have the option of changing your life,” said Anna, lifting a hand and placing it on Dean’s cast. The pressure was slight, and somewhat comforting even if he couldn’t feel it. “Dean, this whole prophecy about you means that you have the chance to fight the bad hand that it dealt you. You have the chance to save the day, and go back to your normal life. This life doesn’t have to be permanent for you.”

Dean appreciated the gesture of kindness, but, “I’m not so sure,” he let out a slow breath, voicing thoughts that had plagued him for days. “Even if I stop the apocalypse, and save Sam, I dunno if I can return. Everyone that was there for me thinks that I’m dead. What if they’ve moved on?” What if Lisa found someone else? Sure, he didn’t like that thought, but it was only natural. He didn’t know how long this crazy apocalypse crap would last. And if Lisa found someone in the meantime that made her happy then…well, good for her.

Dean decided not to think too hard about how okay he was thinking about Lisa moving on and finding someone else.

“This might be it for me.” And if he couldn’t save Sam, then he wasn’t sure how he could live with himself afterwards. At least he had Cas. Even though Castiel may be a dick, at least he was on his side.

Sort of.

\--------------------------------------

“I do not understand how they can reprimand me for the Righteous Man ending up like that!” Castiel scowled, arms folded firmly in front of his chest, wings taking to fluttering about in anger and upset while he marched across Gabriel’s plane. Today, Gabriel had decided he liked the backdrop of an Andes mountains, while he sat in a cloth camping chair with a glass of wine in his hands. “It was his own fault for going off with ill prepared hunters into a situation they did not understand, _without telling me._ ”

Castiel had legitimate complaints, yet Gabriel only looked amused. Flicking up his sunglasses so he could see better, he smirked, “So, you are mad because the Righteous Man did not call you first, brother?”

“It is my job to guard him!” Castiel huffed, his wings folding themselves up behind his back. “On top of that, the Righteous Man is nothing like I imagined! The prophecy stated that he would be Righteous and lead the side of good, but so far all I have seen him do is complain and argue and yell and act like a whiny human instead of the savior of Heaven!”

Gabriel snickered. Castiel did not understand what was so funny. “Maybe he wouldn’t be so whiny if you had bothered to heal him after the demon injured him.”

“He deserved it,” muttered Castiel, putting his hands on his hips and turning away from his brother. Archangel or no, Gabriel did not understand how infuriating that man was sometimes.

“Even though, the higher ups do have a point.” Gabriel reached down into the pocket of the jeans he was wearing—Gabriel never did care about his dress like other angels did while in their vessels; he preferred to wear casual human clothes rather than the business attire that Castiel thought only seemed proper—and pulled out a chocolate bar. Castiel would also never understand his older brother’s obsession with sweets. “We need the Righteous Man out there on the front line, not recovering from an injury you could heal in an instant. Three of our family died last week defending the seal in Lebanon.”

“And what would you suggest, Brother?” Castiel turned back to Gabriel, back straight, arms at his sides, as if he was addressing a superior. The Archangel Gabriel was technically his superior, after all.

Gabriel gave a half-hearted shrug and started to unwrap the chocolate. “There are seals in the United States, are they not? You can ask intelligence if they found anything about demons attempting to break any seals nearby, and take the Righteous Man to them. Protect the seal, and give hope to the garrisons fighting with their last breath to protect the world of men.”

Castiel pursed his lips. “That may be difficult to do, Brother. The Righteous Man wishes to save his brother; I can see it when I look down on him. Whatever happened to him when he was injured, only gave him more fuel for this obsession. I am afraid he would be uninterested in any missions that did not specifically have to do with saving his brother.”

The archangel took a large bite of the chocolate bar, chewing rather obnoxiously for Castiel’s taste. “Castiel, did you really promise the Righteous Man that you would help him find a way to save Sam Winchester?”

“Well, yes, I did. At first, it seemed a good way to make the Righteous Man cooperate, but after that…” Castiel swallowed, looking back out on the landscape before him; the endless hills and valleys covered in a green blanket of trees and shrouded in mist. “I do want to help him try, Brother. I know the pain of losing family. If possible, I want to spare the Righteous Man from that. Destiny has not been kind to him; he has suffered enough.”

“Your superiors won’t like that,” Gabriel said matter-of-factly, taking another bite of chocolate.

“I know,” Castiel nodded. “But as long as we stop the apocalypse; stop Lucifer from rising, I don’t see why it should bother them.”

Gabriel continued to munch on his chocolate bar, but he was silent for a long while. Too long. “Brother?”

“Never mind,” Gabriel shook his head. “You do what feels right, Castiel.”

Castiel raised his hand over his heart, clutching it into a fist. He couldn’t explain it, but somehow, this made him feel sick; wrong. “I wish I knew the will of God in this.”

“You don’t understand, Castiel,” Gabriel shook his head. “The will of God is _your_ will. The Righteous Man’s will. _Free will._ God picked you for one reason; he knew you would make your own choice.”

That sickening feeling grew. If Castiel knew any better, it would be _emotion--_ upset. Fear. Doubt. But he knew better; angels did not feel emotion. “I do not want to make my own choice!” Casitel lashed out, his arms spreading wide as if asking the universe to give him an answer. “I should have direct orders on what to do here! What to feel! I should help the Righteous Man because it’s my duty, not—”

“Because you _want_ to,” Gabriel finished for him, biting down the last bit of candy bar. Castiel could only watch, amazed, as Gabriel lifted himself up from his chair, his golden wings spreading wide, as he turned back to look at him. “Castiel,” Gabriel said, eyes hard and serious. “There is a reason God choose you. And I think, if you look deep inside yourself, your _heart_ , you will know why.”

_No…_

_That’s not—_

Castiel shouldn’t feel this unsettled. He shouldn’t feel unsettled _at all._ He was an angel; angels did not feel emotion. Emotion was the realm of human feelings; emotion made angels _weak._

He was just a guardian angel, a lowly guardian angel, down near the bottom of the angel ranks. Yet he had been entrusted with the most important mission in their history; aiding the Righteous Man an averting the apocalypse. Many angels, high and low, were not happy when it was revealed he was chosen. Many argued; sought to replace him with someone more worthy; someone with greater power or experience.

But God had chosen him.

For centuries, he had wondered why. _Why?_ Why, of all the angels, archangels, heavenly beings at his disposal, did their father choose a grunt, a nobody, someone who wasn’t even worthy to be in their father’s presence, to fulfill this important task?

You didn’t question the will of God.

But Castiel questioned it.

He _dared_ to question it.

Gabriel told him he was chosen for a reason—and that reason was—

Castiel couldn’t bear to think of it.

Gabriel was still looking at him, still smiling, and Castiel could take it no longer. With a small shake of his head, he disappeared off to the only place he could go, though it was a place he was not welcome; the Righteous Man’s side.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Dean had been sitting on his bed, flipping through the book on monsters Kevin had given him (what the Hell was a Wendigo and why did only fire work on it?) when there was a flash of black and his bed squeaked as something heavy fell on it.

“Dude!” Dean jumped up, squirming around to find a mass of black wings curled up on his bed. “What the Hell?” He watched those black wings ruffle, and move, until he saw a figure underneath. A figure he recognized. “Cas!”

As Castiel managed to push himself up, straighten that ugly as fuck trenchcoat and move his wings back into place, Dean thought of ten different insults in his head (the guy had refused to heal his broken arm last time he saw him. _Dick!)_ but he stopped when he saw the look on Castiel’s face. He looked…upset? His jaw was clenched tight and his eyes were hard, and whether he wanted to talk about it or not, there was definitely something that had pissed off his angel.

 _The angel_. Dean mentally corrected himself. It wasn’t like Cas was _his_ angel.

“I apologize,” Castiel said, his face still hard. “I had meant to check in on you. It appears that I misjudged a few things coming here; for one, I am visible.”

“Wait, what?” Dean said, as he bent down to pick up the monster book off the floor from when he was startled. “You just pop in on me all invisible from time to time?”

Castiel nodded. “It is my job as your guardian angel. After the fiasco with the demons, I thought it best to check up on you more often.”

“Dude—” Dean couldn’t hide the disgust on his face. “You’re freaking watching me invisible all the damn time? What the Hell—”

“I do not understand your distress,” Castiel tilted his head slightly, like a curious puppy. “I am only doing my mission.”

“What about—Dude, I shower—”

“I did not think it was polite to watch you while you were undressed, so I would come back later. After all, considering that you take your time in the shower to relieve your sexual urges—”

“ _Oh my God I am not hearing this!”_ Dean slammed his hands against his head, probably blushing at least five shades of red. Castiel continued to tilt his head again, but _oh my god_ watching him while he was awake—probably while he was asleep—and then the whole shower thing and just—

“Why the Hell are you here?” Dean snapped, pointing back at Cas with an accusatory finger. “Remember the last time you hung around while visible? You left me with a broken arm, you _ass—_ “

“I knew you’d be able to find a suitable doctor to treat it.” Cas said matter-of-factly.

“That’s not the damn point!” Dean waved around his cast, hoping maybe the visual would provide Castiel with some insight. “Look, you show up, give me some shit, and then you just leave me with a broken arm? Not cool, man.”

“You’re forgetting that I saved your life as well.”

“Yeah, and then you had to fucking chew me out!”

Castiel sighed, shaking his head as if Dean was a petulant child. “You failed to inform me where you were. You should not have set off on that ill-conceived demon hunt—“

“I was just trying to ‘do my duty’, okay!” Dean ran a hand through his hair and looked away from the angel momentarily. “ _You_ were the one who said I had to step up as the Righteous Man!”

“I did not mean gallivanting off to kill demons on your own, I meant—”

“Well, _thanks_ for letting me know!” Dean yelled spreading his arms out in exasperation. “I thought you would’ve wanted me to go off and ‘do my duty’, even though this crap is _never_ what I wanted, I just wanted to live a normal fucking live in a normal fucking town, and instead I’m supposedly your angels messiah while my little baby brother is apparently the fucking antichrist! _I never fucking asked for this shit!_ So yeah, I’m doing my bestand just trying to keep it together, man, because all the time I’m killing fucking demons and listening to stories about fucking vampires or fucking ghosts, I wonder, why the _fuck_ does it have to me be, Cas? _Why?_ ”

Dean let out a long breath when he finished, wondering why Castiel had averted his eyes. Was it because he felt guilty or something? _Good._ Letting out another long sigh, Dean collapsed onto the bed, sitting beside the angel (careful not to accidentally sit on any of Cas’s feathers). Running a hand through his hair again, Dean said, “I don’t expect you to understand—”

“No,” Castiel turned back to him, and to Dean’s surprise, there was kindness and understanding in his eyes. “Actually, I think I do.”

“You?” Dean balked, his mouth cracking into a smile. “Listen Buddy, you have no idea—”

“You wonder why it has to be you, right?” Cas met his eyes, and that blue was as intense and serious as Dean had ever seen it. “I don’t expect that you know much about angels, Dean, but I’ve always been a guardian angel—I have warded and protected many important people over the millennia. But guardian angels are just above cherubs in the hierarchy, you might say.”

“There are _cherubs?_ ” Winged baby dicks?

“They don’t take the form of winged babies, but yes,” Cas narrowed his eyes for only a moment; probably irritated that Dean had interrupted him on such an irrelevant point. “The highest rank of all angels are the four archangels, my elder brothers; Gabriel, the Messenger, Raphael, the Healer, Michael, the Warrior, and Lucifer, the Fallen. It was written in ancient prophecy that an angel would guide the Righteous Man, and stop the apocalypse once and for all. It would be the first time my kind has walked among man since the time of Christ. So you can imagine how I felt when I was told God had chosen me for this duty, this duty that would determine the fate of mankind.”

“Well, Cas, you look like a bit of an overachiever,” Dean chuckled. “Maybe God noticed you were getting straight A’s and made you Student of the Month?”

Castiel looked away, his fingers running along the seams in that tan trenchcoat of his. “I was never important to God. Before, I would have doubted Father even knew my name. And yet, he chose me for this important task. _Me._ A lowly guardian angel. There were hundreds of better qualified angels, so why was it _me?_ What reason could he possibly have for choosing me above my brothers and sisters? Above _archangels?_ This thought has plagued me for years. I thought I might learn the answer when the time came for me to guard you, but even now, I am left unsure.”

Dean leaned back on the bed, palms flat against the sheets, looking up at the cracked, whitewashed ceiling. “I dunno, Cas. God works in mysterious ways, you know.”

“It was never supposed to be mysterious to us angels,” Castiel muttered darkly, his hands clenching in the rough trenchcoat fabric. His wings stiffened against his back, black feathers constricting. “Our Father hasn’t been around for a long time; that much I know. He left, saying we would know what to do when the time was right, and promised to return, someday. We were left to our own devices, knowing we were doing God’s work…”

Cas trailed off, but Dean could see it in the conflicted look in Cas’s eyes that he wanted to say more. “…And?”

Castiel closed his eyes, exhaling. When he opened them again, he stared down at his lap. “I am not sure if we are doing God’s work anymore.” His eyes flicked back up to Dean’s, staring so intently that Dean wondered if Cas was attempting to count every freckle on his cheeks. “We say that these are the days leading to the apocalypse, that we must protect every seal down to the last angel but why are so few garrisons called to fight? Why is there so much importance in the Righteous Man leading the charge, when Michael, our most powerful weapon, sits idly in Heaven? Why is Intelligence devoting their time to hunting Nephlims, instead of using all their manpower hunting down seals? Why am I, the angel, given the task protecting the Righteous Man, out of the loop when it comes to Heaven’s plans? I do not understand what is happening to my home.” Cas bit his lip, and then the words came rushing out as if he was trying to hold them in. “I have…doubts.”

Dean wasn’t entirely sure what to say. “Everyone has doubts, Cas.”

“Not angels,” Castiel corrected him. “Angels do not feel emotion. We are not _programmed_ to. We do not feel doubt, or unease, or fear, or joy. I suppose sometimes we can fake emotions; pretend, if you will, that we feel anger or happiness, but we do not actually possess the capabilities to do so. The four archangels were made with emotion, made to be different, but as for the rest of us; we’re all copies of the same model.”

Dean leaned forward, eyes wider, “Dude, don’t refer to yourself like you’re a machine—”

“In essence, that’s what we are, Dean,” Castiel folded his hands in his lap. “God put his effort into making the four distinct archangels, and the rest of us were made to be the same. Same capabilities; same lack of emotion.” Castiel reached one hand up towards his heart. “I shouldn’t be able to _feel_ doubt. And yet, why do I?”

Though Dean had given the angel a lot of crap, perhaps he didn’t really deserve it. Angels were dicks, sure, but Cas didn’t seem like much of one now that he knew. So maybe all the rest of the angels were carbon-copy asshats, but Cas somehow wasn’t. Reaching his broken arm up, Dean placed his hand on Cas’s shoulder, the cast resting on the hard collarbone. “Maybe you’re different.”

“I shouldn’t _be_ different!” Casitel spat, blue flame in his eyes. “And if I am, then, _why?_ _Why was it me?_ ”

Maybe, after all this, Dean was starting to understand the angel. Starting to call him a friend. It would explain the slight warmth in his stomach after so long of feeling pain in his gut when he said, “I guess we’ll find that out together.”


End file.
